Choices and Perceptions
by michellemybelle25
Summary: "I made the choice..." Christine makes her choice with love at its core, but in the midst of a marriage with the opera ghost, will Erik ever be able to see her heart?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the characters; they are from various versions of Phantom of the Opera.

Hello, all! I have a new story for you. These are the first couple of chapters, and I'll post more of it as I edit in the next few days. This story is like one of my babies; I'm just so attached to it! It's an epilogue story told from Christine's POV. I really hope you like it! :)

SUMMARY: "I made the choice..." Christine makes her choice with love at its core, but in the midst of a marriage with the opera ghost, will Erik ever be able to see her heart?

"Choices and Perceptions"

_I made the choice…. I made the choice…._ The words were being repeated like a mantra in my head, over and over again, almost like a monotone chant. Rhythmic, soothing in some constant way, they incited the gentle rocking my body had undertaken as I sat awkwardly perched on the edge of the canopy bed in my room in Erik's home, ready to leap to my feet in the instant things changed. Oh, weren't they bound to change….

Chanting up my own courage only lasted so long, as sporadic thoughts continuously burst my trance and returned the tragically unaccepted events of only the past few hours. Hours? …Dear Lord, was it really only _hours_ ago that I had been preparing to perform that ill-fated opera? It seemed like years when so much of my very existence had been shifted. Opera roles and performances were suddenly so mundane in the ultimate scheme of things. Had I actually wasted minutes of my precious freedom feeling nervous about singing onstage before a full audience? Wasted…, I wanted to curse my own naïveté, for it seemed that in solely the past few hours, I had gone from child to woman. Suddenly, life was in perspective, and the fuzzy innocence childhood gave was vanished to nothing.

"I made the choice…." I spoke the words aloud this time, wanting every one of my senses to pick them up and believe them. I _had_ made the choice. I had determined the path I myself would now follow. Coercion was only a gentle nudge toward its end, not the basis beneath as I am certain everyone else was convinced. Yes, Erik had threatened to murder Raoul if I did not choose him, but surprisingly, it was only the final push my heart had needed to accept a decision that had already been made. As I said, no one else would have believed that.

Sighing desolately, I let my fingers idly caress the intricate beading on my skirt. A wedding gown; yes, this was a wedding gown. Well, Erik certainly had not wanted his intentions misconstrued. He wanted me to know that my agreement was permanent…, binding. …Yet seemingly more comparable to a prisoner in a jail cell than a bride. Even if my prison was a bit more luxurious than most, it was a prison just the same.

Within seconds of a kiss that had practically shaken the foundation of the earth itself with its power, Erik had locked me in my room like an obstinate child, and I had not seen or heard from him since. My conclusion on the subject was that he had busied himself getting rid of Raoul's presence, a prisoner himself, though his cell had had the less pleasant distinction of being a torture chamber. And I was certain that Raoul would not have left calmly. No, he would have made some futile attempt to fight for me…. Poor, foolishly misguided Raoul. He was fortunate that Erik was committed not to harm him because without a restriction in place, the Vicomte's life would have been as good as over despite my seeming sacrifices to save it.

So I wasn't permitted a goodbye to the love of my shattered childhood. I doubted I would ever see Raoul again, and under the current circumstances, I only knew a momentary mourning for our idealistic relationship, that same bereavement that I was indulging for my ended childhood. Raoul was a part of it, holding the heart of the little girl I no longer was. After tonight, we would have had no future even if Erik had released me from my choice. I was different on the inside. I doubted Raoul could have understood that. Our stolen goodbye was something I only accepted when looking at it with Erik's eyes. Surely what he perceived could only be a tearful farewell full of kisses and oaths of undying love was best avoided. I could hardly begrudge him that.

…Where was Erik? My mind was asking the question again as my insides were being twisted by a mixture of boredom and queer anticipation. After all, I had no idea what was to come, what our life, one I had _freely chosen_, would hold, and yet I was convicted to my path. If I had still been the weak child, mourning lost love and freedom, perhaps in this time alone, I would have sought a means to take my own life. Wasn't suicide a better option to a lifetime with a monster? It would certainly make a glorious ending to a tragic opera if this tale were only a work of fiction. Taking my own life…, dramatic, poetic, the fitting finale to a tale of horror. But the ironic twist in my story that, strangely enough, made me stronger than all of that was that I loved the monster.

It was still an oddity to admit such a thing openly to myself when I had kept it buried in denial for so long. But it was true. I loved Erik. Albeit, not the version of him I had had to endure this evening, one bordering insanity and on the verge of murder. No, I loved the Erik I had been lucky enough to know before our world had come crashing down around us. Teacher, friend, mentor, …the match of my innermost soul…. Back before Raoul had reappeared in my life and had convinced me to see things his way, Erik and I had been so very close. We had delighted simply in one another's existence. It had been beyond the music, beyond even the awe I had always known for his genius. It had been a constant longing to be within each other's company, a need to be together. He had been closer and dearer to me than anyone in my entire life.

Why then had things imploded as violently as they had to lead us to this travesty of an ending? …What argument can I make to justify the petty shallowness of an immature girl? Raoul had held my childhood heart, and weak as I was, I had let those fleeting wisps of feelings return and spring back to life. No, I had never loved him, but I had respected and trusted him enough to value his opinions about Erik and his supposed 'control' over me. My God, the Vicomte's charm! When he exuded it, he could have had me believing anything he chose. He had twisted every detail around until it _had_ seemed like I must have been manipulated. Raoul had even had me believing that Erik had used his music to hypnotize me into feeling something for him!

_Naïve fool!_ I shouted at myself now to recall it. And how I had ignorantly hurt Erik! It sickened me to consider it!

Suddenly as I sat there still ruminating on the past's mistakes, the click of the lock being turned made me jump with a start and leap to my feet, terrified for reasons I couldn't find. Erik's eyes were cold when they immediately sought me out, biting furiously beneath the replaced presence of the mask. Oh, how often did he hide behind that manmade barrier? More times than he probably realized. Now it was the face of the phantom, his alter persona and cruelest façade, who stared at me, who ran bitter eyes over my appearance from head to toe for a long disconcerting moment before he strode into the room, …dragging with him a uniformed priest. So…there was to be a wedding, after all…? Did that make me happy or frightened? …Even I myself wasn't sure when the opera ghost was my groom and the Erik I had loved was far, far out of my reach.

The priest was practically heaved to the opposite side of the room, and he scampered to his feet again with wide, horror-stricken eyes that landed on me a long second before raising back to Erik. And what sort of expression did I give to this scene? Solemn to be sure with a clear lack of surprise. No, nothing Erik did surprised me anymore.

"My dear," the phantom sneered with a modicum of spite lacing his golden angel's voice…. _Dear_…, back when things had been pleasant, every endearment uttered had been saturated in genuine sentiment. Then, he had called me '_ange_' as if I was the angel he was supposed to have been. Now… 'dear' felt as cold as an insult.

"Erik." I was ill-equipped at imitating such a tone, especially when the only resentment I carried was solely due to the fact that he was playing a part with me and refusing to give me back the man I actually wanted. Still, I was stronger in composure than either of us had expected me to be, and he showed his astonishment toward such a feat in one solitary moment before he hastily hid it away again.

Straightening his shoulders with that arrogant air that always besot him when he was the almighty phantom, he explained with a certain amount of detachment, "I have taken the liberty of escorting your former fiancé home, and on my way back, I brought us a guest. Father Benedict will perform our marriage ceremony, a real, _legal_ marriage…. Does this surprise you, Christine? You did agree, and surely you couldn't have expected a spoken vow to be enough."

"I _did_ agree," I insisted back. I could guess that he was expecting horror from me, shock, terror. None of which I gave. In fact, I remained stoic and defiantly holding his eye, and so I glimpsed the miniscule breath during which he was slightly rattled by my strength.

"This is all a part of your game, isn't it?" he suddenly accused, and then tossing his hands up in the air, he gave a fraction of that maniacal laugh I had been subject to all evening. "Of course it is! You want to confuse me and intrigue me, take me off my guard so that the first chance you get, you can make your escape. Well, I cannot argue against your attempt, futile as it may be, and you certainly have amused me. No tears and pleadings. It's…unexpected from you."

Unexpected…. Dear Lord, how long had I let the child within me reign supreme? It shamed me to consider that he was right, that his seeming insult had validity enough to leave me inwardly cringing. I let none of it show on my face. No, I didn't want Erik to know of my regrets.

"I am playing no game with you, Erik. I made a choice," I emphasized every word, "and if you are ready, then let us marry and start our life together." I turned to the wary-eyed priest and nodded confidently, "Father, if you will."

The man looked as if he yearned to refuse, but was far too terrified to utter a word against us. And indeed, what could he say? We had both consented to marriage; Erik was _not_ forcing me. The priest's only argument could have come in the form of being dragged here by mediocre force, for this was not a cowering child and deranged murderer standing before him. No. I was determined we'd never fall into those roles ever again.

My eyes slowly rose to my groom, and one solitary twinge of panic coiled in my stomach. And it wasn't even my own! Because for an instant, so quick that only a resonating echo told me that it was even real, I caught a flicker of fear in those mismatched eyes. Fear…. Had I _ever_ seen Erik afraid of anything? He was always so far beyond strong and completely poised at every turn, and had I looked at him in this current breath, fear would have never even crossed my mind. He had buried it away as if it had never existed, and I knew that for now I would have to do the same and wait to ask why, even as my mind suffered with it. Over and over again, I pondered what he could possibly be afraid of…. Me…? I could logically conclude little else.

Putting up a façade that my brain spun mercilessly behind, I extended my hands out to him, my eyes holding his, secretly seeking those unpleasant emotions he never again gave away. Moving with a grace that captivated me as always, he strode the few lengths to stand before me. …Did his hands really tremble in the second before they caught mine? …I couldn't be sure.

His skin was cold, always cold, eternally and basely cold. I had to wonder if moving out of the damp catacombs would change that, or if that was something built into him. …Was all of him so cold? …And yet wasn't it within mere moments that my own natural heat seemed to chase the edge of the chill away? Cold became secondary then as I focused on those hands, on their shape holding mine. To me, they weren't the hands of a deformed murderer; no, they were the hands of a genius, a brilliant inventor, a virtuoso composer and musician. Not even after the events of this night did I look upon them and see a flash of blood or violence. No, I only saw Erik's hands.

At some point I had not noticed, the priest had joined us; I only gave recognition to him at all when his nervous jittering back and forth distracted my peripheral vision. At nearly the same instant, both Erik and I looked away from each other and to his intruding presence, simultaneously giving him our full regard.

"Are you…sure?" Father Benedict stammered, and it was blatantly clear that the question was directed solely at me.

"Without a single doubt," I replied, meeting Erik's eye as it seemed to hold the same question in its depths. "Are you?" I dared to ask my groom as well, recalling that flash of fear I had seen.

Those mismatched eyes narrowed, his stare shrewd and fixed on mine as, disentangling one of our joined hands, he lifted it to draw away his mask, revealing that stark, mangled deformity with a posed challenge to me alone. I heard the little cry of horror our observer gave, knowing that Erik did as well but was giving no consideration to it. No, he was only concerned with me and my reaction to his pitiful excuse for a face.

"No doubts, Christine?" he dared to taunt, tilting that corpse's head to test me so brutally.

But my expression had not changed and neither had the conviction in my heart. If he had thought to shock me, such days were long over. I knew what that face looked like, not only from the times he had vividly put it on display mid-rage at me. I saw it on the blank canvases of my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. Its image was ingrained there so permanently and had been since my first encounter with it, stealing any shock value it had once had over me.

Holding those eyes, one sunken so deeply into its socket and so vibrantly emerald at the same time while the other shown perfect and blue, I replied resolutely, "No doubts," and I saw it shake him ever so slightly.

He left the mask off, and I would have had it no other way, wanting to _see_ the face of the man I was marrying. The priest was the only one of us unnerved, but as his shaky voice resounded around us, Erik and I kept eyes solely on each other, everything else forgotten in the midst of a hazy backdrop.

I barely heard or understood a single word, surprising myself when the time to speak came and I actually managed to utter a committing vow. I was far too engrossed studying the man before me, my groom, my about-to-be husband. How long had it been since the major rift between us? …Six months or so, give or take. Six months…. Six months of changes, six months filled with days that I was not the focus of those eyes, six months of thoughts through his head that I knew nothing about, …six months of pain and loneliness that I had ignorantly caused…. And in six months, though that face was the same as ever, the man and soul behind it were altered in ways I wanted to learn. …Six months of separation, and yet we were ending together. Oddly enough, perhaps it was only due to his forceful, seemingly crazy actions that we had even arrived at this point. If not for his ultimatum, I very likely might have stayed the weak child at Raoul's side and suffocated my own heart in the process.

I had to wonder what Erik was considering as he stared back at me. His expression was unreadable, no smile in his eyes, no elation in his very aura. He remained so dignified in composure and yet gave off the faintest trace of apathy that absolutely grated on me. I _knew_ he wasn't apathetic to this scene. I _knew_ he loved me. …And yet he seemed so determined not to show even a trace of it, making it seem like I could have been _anyone_ standing there with him, marrying him, and it wouldn't have mattered.

As the traditional ceremony ended and we were now legally bound to one another as man and wife, I was expecting _something_ from my groom, maybe relief at least. Instead, I was suddenly yanked to him by the grip he still had on my hands, and as a gasp I could not contain slid out, he kissed me hard. It was nothing like the gentle kiss we had shared earlier, one I had instigated to seal my vow and show him I had meant every word. This was forceful, bruising, an act of possession rather than love. I was his now, and he was making that abundantly clear.

When he let me go with an abruptness that made my head spin, he turned to the priest without even a flash of regard to my presence as the hurt rejection welled up inside of me without my consent.

"I'll take you back," Erik said stiffly to the priest, and even though he tossed one single look my way, it was completely devoid of emotion. And that was all. No words, no explanations, not even a goodbye. Erik half-dragged the priest back out of my room, closing the door behind them and leaving me alone. …Alone on my wedding day. …Practically rejected by my husband. …Ignorantly bound to him for the rest of my life. …Regret, but really what _could_ I regret? I had hurt Erik, and he was making a point. I couldn't regret going through with my vow and marrying him because I genuinely loved him in spite of it all. Regret…, I regretted the past six months. …_They_ had formed the man I had just married. I regretted six months of pain I had inflicted on us both, and now I would have to live with the consequences.

For about ten minutes that seemed _far_ longer to my frantic nerves, I paced my room before I realized with a huff at my own stupidity that I had not heard a click. I was not locked in this time. …Was that an iota of trust now that we were legally married anyway? I would have thought so had I not ventured out into the empty house only to find the one door out into the catacombs locked from the outside. …What could I argue to that? He didn't trust me. Why should he? But being locked in the house was superior to being locked in one room, or so a lingering flicker of optimism thought. But I squelched that optimism in my next coherent moment; squelched, stepped on, shredded to tiny, indecipherable pieces.

With a heaved sigh of my discontent, I wandered the quiet rooms of the house beneath approaching waves of melancholy. I had to wonder now that we were wed if Erik would intend for us to remain underground. To my sun-starved mind, it seemed no way to live. …Dark, dank, cold. I could already fathom catching ill quite frequently under such conditions. The house itself wasn't intolerable. Fireplaces in every room chased the brunt of the chill out, but it was still so…devoid of natural light. I liked the sun and the moon and the stars. Even cloudy days and rain were better to look at than stone walls and ceilings. I couldn't imagine never seeing them again.

Eventually with nothing to occupy myself, I ended up back within my own room, door closed, privacy established. What privacy, though? …This would be my wedding night. I knew a trepidation I hardly wanted to acknowledge creating frantic butterflies in my belly.

I was not ignorant on such intimate subjects, as most women my age were. Being a member of the _corps de ballet_ would have taught me plenty and certainly beyond the basic actions. Those girls were well-versed and not shy to discuss even the most salacious of details, for surely in my quiet observance, as could not have been avoided since we had been together so often, I had learned quite a bit and vivid instructions on acts I felt certain only prostitutes performed. But in regard to the simple mechanics of things, I attributed my education to a father who was desperate that his only daughter would not be taken advantage of. My father had spent most of his career in and out of the theatre scene, and he had known of its inner workings, had known how far performers often went to please patrons and managers alike. Preparing me for a similar career path, he had felt it necessary to instill in me a respect and reverence for my body and the very act of giving it so intimately to another. Oh, Raoul had tried on more than one occasion to acquire such physical pleasures, insisting again and again that he loved me and it was only the natural progression of love, but I had never conceded to more than a few kisses. …And oh, how grateful I suddenly felt for the awkward conversation I had had to endure with my father! Otherwise I likely would have fallen into the same mindset as the other ballerinas and given in to Raoul months ago.

…And now…tonight I would give myself to Erik, …my husband. Quivering from head to toe with an internal nervousness that flushed my pale complexion pink, I suddenly had the urge to busy myself with something, _anything_ to take my mind from the thought. It was too quiet in my room! In the house! Quiet enough for thoughts to reel in my brain.

I decided on a hot bath, determined to relax and calm myself after the extent of an overwhelming evening. Relax, ha! Relaxation of any sort would not come. I was tense as could be even within the deliciously warm cocoon of the water and fragrant bubbles. At some point, I even tried to sing and to concentrate on the way my voice echoed off of the tiles of my bathroom, filling up space. But thoughts kept bursting in, and finally, I had to give up, rushing out of the tub and grabbing for my nightclothes on the wings of a sudden consideration that Erik could simply burst into my bathroom if he so chose and find me bare in my tub. He was my husband, and I couldn't and wouldn't deny him, but I had the irrelevant yet oddly necessary desire to make the moment special, more special than being found in my bathtub.

With shaking fingers, I dressed in a white, silk nightgown, the loveliest one in my wardrobe, and a lace wrap, hoping, even as I blushed to consider such a thing, that Erik would like it. I didn't even know if he desired me in such a way; I had never given any thought about it until now. Back before our separation, there had been a few times when I had suspected that he had wanted to kiss me, but the mask had always stood in the way. It was an obstruction; to kiss me, he would have had to remove it, and at the time, that had been an unacceptable condition. Now…well, everything was changed.

Sitting upon the soft blankets of my bed, I flounced the silk of my skirt and combed through my damp, loose curls with a growing sense of impatience. I truly had no idea how long I would have to wait, and as the determination swelled within me, I knew I was ready and sure. But the longer I sat, the more my apprehension re-flickered to life with every consideration and the more insecure I grew. At some point, I even found myself concluding that my intrepid innocence would seem foolish to Erik, most especially if he had done such things before. Perhaps he would expect me to know how to please him, or at least not to be the timid mouse I suddenly felt like. If I was dealing with the Erik of six months ago, I could say with utter absoluteness that he would have been gentle and understanding, but this new Erik…. I wasn't confident to predict anything.

Minutes of further discomfort ticked by, long, almost unendurable. Then an hour, …then another hour, and I felt I would burst from this waiting. Dear God, what was taking so long? Or was it simply that he didn't want to be here with me? …Or, and this was a torturous thought to my addled brain, had something happened to him? I trusted his stealthy ability to blend with shadows and move about like the ghost they called him, but after tonight, too many people were out for vengeance. _Oh, Erik, where are you?_

I could remain still no longer, and with bare feet striking a thick layer of carpet that thankfully kept out the chill a wooden floor would have suffered, I crept from my room with no more intent than to wander the house. Locked in, I couldn't very well go and look for him. …Locked in, I would die here myself if something had happened to Erik. Funny that the thought only then occurred to me.

As I passed that prohibited exit, I halted in my very step. There, hung by the door was Erik's black cloak, the very one he had been wearing hours before. …He was here…; he was home. And it astounded and perplexed me that he had not dared to approach me. Better judgment argued to leave things be and return to my room, but how could I? My life had just been transformed this very day; he was my husband. I couldn't consider that we'd begin our marriage so rifted apart.

I sought him out and was summoned by the glow of the fireplace in the sitting room, bright enough to imply that it had been recently stoked. It was strange that it felt so welcoming when the image I got as I paused in the doorway was hardly that at all. Erik was seated in his throne-like chair, staring so somberly at the hearth, mask hiding the vast depth of the pain that radiated from him in the way heat was radiating from the fire. In his hand was a glass of some sort of alcohol; it looked as if he had barely sipped from it, a crutch to numb a pain he seemed more inclined to suffer instead.

Erik never looked away from the flames, never cast one single glance my way, and yet he suddenly commanded, "Go to bed, Christine."

This time my sense won, stifling any protest and snuffing each out before they could dare hit the air. My eyes ran over him one more moment. Dear God, he seemed so broken, and I was only vaguely aware of why. One would have presumed he'd have had an inkling of happiness in having inevitably been victorious, even a bit of his earlier arrogance, but all I felt permeating the room was sorrow. …And though it hurt me, I left him there and went obediently to my room, unsure there was anything that could be said tonight to make a difference. Tomorrow, …yes, tomorrow when all of this seemed a nightmare, then I would mend the gap between us again.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimism was a useless emotion to even consider when dealing with Erik. Had I conveniently forgotten how obstinate he was, or had he just grown worse in my absence?

A week passed by, a torturously long, barely endurable week, and my new husband hardly even acknowledged my existence or my presence. He had put walls so insurmountable between us that I had no idea where to begin to dismantle them. I had one clear and vivid realization: his intention was to punish me by inevitably punishing us both. I had been ridiculously naïve to have ever considered that things could become as they once had been between us. Even tentative friendship seemed an unfathomable outcome. Friendship? By the end of that week, I would have been overjoyed with casual acquaintanceship, even a solitary nod when I entered a room, _anything_. But no. And any conversation I attempted was avoided with a muttered reply and an abrupt retreat.

Often, he chose not to be in the house's confines at all, disappearing sometimes before I even awoke and returning late into the evening. We _never_ ate a meal together, even as on a few occasions, I dared to ask for simply that. But I had an inclination that his reluctance went beyond a wish to avoid me as I realized that never, not even in our more congenial days, had we eaten together. To eat, he would have to remove the mask, and since our wedding, he had been careful to keep it always in place. I couldn't say why beyond his desire to play a persona, to be the opera ghost at all times, cold, calculated, manipulative, aloof. If he fell into the role, then his heart wouldn't be allowed to care for me…, and he couldn't be hurt. How could I change his mind when I had been the very person to cause that hurt to begin with?

During that hopeless week, trapped in the house as I always was, I learned the desolation of loneliness. I was in awe of Erik's strength for suffering such an affliction himself for so long. One week was far beyond too much for me. I looked for anything to busy myself. My lessons and career in general had currently been put on hold, and I hadn't the heart to tolerate the rejection I felt certain I would get if I tried to broach the subject with Erik. So, instead, I spent long hours on neglected housework. Though Erik was tidy and meticulous with his belongings, the dusting and scrubbing tasks seemed to have been overlooked, enough so to keep me going. When I ran out of idle cleaning, I took to rearranging my room and wardrobe for no real reason but to avoid boredom. And then…what _was_ I going to do with myself? Was part of my punishment to include having no direction with my life? Maybe he wanted to break my spirit to nothing. When that happened, would he suddenly change his cold mannerism? Would that suffice for him? …Or did he want me dead as well? …How much punishment was enough?…

Given far too much time to think, I came to a blatant decision that left no room for argument. If I wanted him and his affections, _truly_ wanted him, I was going to have to be the one to bridge the distance. And this was beyond apologies and penance; this was a restatement of our very relationship. It was a boldness on my own part, a willingness to hold my heart out to him and let him do what he would with it. I felt I had no other option if I wanted anything but a distant marriage for the rest of our lives.

Fortunately, one morning after that first agonizing week, I arose early enough to catch him before he abandoned me for the day. He was scuffling about his music room, going through haphazard piles of music with some intended target, and for a second, I lingered back in the doorway, still so uncertain how to approach him. I had little chance to ponder when his eyes suddenly locked on me, though I had given no noise to betray my presence. It was as if he simply _felt_ me.

Erik did not speak; he waited, hands halting mid-stack of music, eyes demanding what words did not. Flustered, I stammered, "I wasn't spying on you." …And I cringed at how ridiculous I knew I sounded, watching his own confused expression.

Shaking his head as if he was already dismissing me, he left the pile without whatever he had been seeking and simply muttered, "I have to go."

_Bravery, where are you?_ I demanded of myself, and as though it answered and took control, I found my legs scooting me to stand in the center of the doorway, blocking his exit. Of course, that had to make him stop and look at me.

"Wait," I commanded softly, desperate not to sound as nervous as I felt. "Do you really have to go out again today? Couldn't you…stay here with me?"

He was silent, and I felt his gaze measuring me up, probing deep into my mind and seeking something I was unsure to name. Most people would have cowered under such a penetrating stare and rightly so. It made me feel so vulnerable, so exposed, but instead of running from it as I had times before, I stayed firm and actually savoured it. I _wanted_ him to read my soul, to see exactly how deeply I adored him. I was so confident that love would be what he'd find, …and yet his stone-set expression never softened as I had hoped it would.

"I have to go," he repeated flatly.

Before he could try to pass me, I pushed, "Could you perhaps return early? Maybe we could have supper together. …I can cook decently enough."

The refusal was in his eyes, about to strike the air, and I abruptly attempted a persuasive grin laced in every hope I felt in my soul. Could he really deny that?

"I…I'll see." He seemed flustered, off guard ever so slightly, enough so that he paused a moment more and just stared at me, my smile yet unwavering, before he slipped past me and left the house.

It wasn't a victory, and I did not count it as such, but it was a start.

Was it that surprising when supper time came and went, and he never appeared? I should have prepared myself for such a fate, especially considering how far apart we were from each other, but it still stung me harshly. I ate alone in the dining room, unwilling to indulge in threatening tears, and yet I never tasted a single bite of the food on my plate, moving mechanically with a head far too full to focus. I was already beginning to feel the hopelessness settle in, …the defeat. Was this all there'd ever be?

Desolation dragged onward, and as the clock chimed a late hour, I felt utterly restless and agitated like a suffering spirit caught in the world of the in-between. Clothed in my nightdress, plain and cotton, not the silk I had attempted on my supposed wedding night, I wandered idly through the empty house and finally ended up in Erik's music room. Over a week without singing, without music in general, felt like a lifetime. I was itching to practice, to sing, to learn, and even if the best teacher I had ever had did not want to teach me anymore, I was determined that my talent would not be squandered.

Standing before the ivory keys of the grand piano, I struck a chord, and taking a deep, opening breath, I began a simple vocalise. It took me long minutes and various exercises to break my voice free of the tension it was carrying for my overburdened body, and when it was finally loose and able to glide on the breath, I beamed at my own accomplishment. And now I was ready to move on to a challenge, one I could seem to conquer in the end and control through the chaos of reality.

Strolling over to the bookshelves lining one wall, I scanned a multitude of scores and repertoire, unsure where I wanted to begin. Something new, that was a given, but what…? I finally chose a Mozart opera. Italian. Surely that would prove to give the distraction I needed. Taking the heavy score to the piano, I sat before the keys and opened to the first scene, exuberant about something in a way I had not known in months. Music often did that to me, new music, learning. How I loved to learn! When Erik had been my teacher, we had covered role after role as I devoured each one with an insatiable appetite. Such a thing had always impressed him; he had once told me so.

I was not a piano player. The extent of my skills came from my ability to read music and strike the notes I needed, so learning was a tedious process for me when alone. I went line by line, poking my pitches. Tedious _and_ time-consuming. I truly didn't know how long I was sitting there, working, and I certainly didn't know that at some point, I had gained an audience. No, I didn't notice anything until laden with fatigue, I closed the score and rose, ready to give up and go to bed.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned and came face to face with Erik as he lingered in the doorway, leaning casually on the wooden frame, watching me.

"Mozart?" he inquired, and I could only manage a wide-eyed nod, still thrown by his observing presence. "Ambitious, aren't you?" he continued. "Considering you're six months out of practice."

"But I was singing at the opera-"

"Six months out of my lessons then," he interrupted and sharply corrected.

What to reply to that…; _'that's your own doing'_, perhaps? And yet such a bold accusation would not pass my lips. At that moment, I would have taken anything he had to give, in any tone, even a berating one, because in truth, it was the most words and most interest he had put towards me in over a week. Any pride I had left called it pathetic, but my heart dismissed everything but his eyes and focus on me, …finally.

"It may be ambitious," I stated back, "but I'll manage to learn it. I enjoy a challenge." …And I had quite a few on my plate at the moment, didn't I?

His eyes were summing me up again before he gave a solitary nod. "Yes, you will rise to the occasion as you always have…, but I would be a fool to allow you to do so on your own."

Yes, there was a hint of an insult there, an implication that I _couldn't_ do it without him, but I chose to bypass its presence in favor of another more pleasant conclusion: he wanted to teach me! One memory of our lessons, of the elation I always knew when lost to the music with him, and I was clenching my fists at my sides to keep control over myself and prevent leaping up and down with glee like a silly child.

I created a skeptical look over features that yearned to smile and softly demanded, "What exactly are you saying, Erik? …That _you_ would be my teacher again?"

I was sure he saw right through my façade, even though his expression never altered, his eyes still penetrating me so deeply. But I retained enough composure to meet that stare fixedly, hoping he was acknowledging, somewhere in the recesses of that mind, that I was being strong and unwavering.

"Perhaps I shall," he replied to my question after a long paused moment. "I devoted quite a lot to shaping that voice, molding it. I wouldn't want it destroyed…or underestimated for that matter. I have a suspicion that if I am not around to push you, you will never measure up to your true potential."

My eyes narrowed a bit, but all I said was, "But would you have the time to be my teacher? You've been quite busy lately; …you haven't been here very much." It was as close as I could get to accusing him of avoiding me without causing his temper to flare. How well I knew this man to be able to predict such a thing and accurately so!

"I will make time," he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest haughtily. "But I will expect you to do the same. I will expect an unchanged level in the professionalism and commitment to your talent that I received all those months ago. Is that understood?"

I nodded slowly, again desperate not to seem too eager. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow, …after breakfast."

* * *

Erik's idea of breakfast was me eating while he sat poised at the end of the table awkwardly sipping a cup of tea and watching me every few minutes. I tried not to show how uncomfortable he was making me feel, occasionally attempting conversations that never actually got underway or offering him food that he nonchalantly refused. I was grateful to finish and finally get to my lesson. Had I even slept the night before with anticipation for it?

Unless one is a singer or musician under the tutelage of a very exceptional teacher, one can never understand the sheer joy and wonder of a lesson. It is not the same as book learning skills or school studies; it is not about adding knowledge to the brain or testing its capabilities. It is about talent and honing a gift that is inborn; it is about letting the very soul out even if only for a short time. With Erik, it was always ecstasy. He made me feel so special, as if my talent put me so far above the rest of mankind, as if because I had such desire, such passion for music, equal to his, that I was some sort of extraordinary thing. And to be his pupil, to see the extent of his genius and commit all of myself to his teachings, was an absolute blessing to me. I never held back with him, never avoided even the silly, seemingly mundane exercises he would ask me to do because I knew he always had a purpose, whether he was after a specific sound, tone, or color. In the end, he was always right and drew out of me a beauty and fullness that I could have never dreamt of creating.

Over the course of days and weeks to come, we were able to fall back into the roles of teacher and student as if we had never suffered a hiatus to our learning. And eagerly and without reservation, I was the awestruck pupil again, striving and striving to make my teacher proud. How much did I savour every spoken word of praise, every nod of encouragement, every time he closed his eyes and seemed to relish a sound I was making? We would work daily for hours on end, neither of us wanting that time to cease…because as soon as it did, the rifted marriage became our reality again, and we drew apart as if only the music could bring us together. We didn't know how to play the roles of husband and wife, but we were so accomplished at teacher and student that those parts were easy and required no real work. Those parts were favored. For now, I convinced myself to settle with that, to relish and cling to those few hours out of an otherwise distant day and pretend that, for at least that time, he loved me, too. …It quickly became hollow and not nearly enough to satisfy my bleeding heart.

…And wasn't that exactly how it felt? …Bleeding…. Like a gaping wound existed down the center of my heart, and during our lessons, it was mended and sealed but oh so temporarily. And as soon as we were back to our separate corners, it was ripped wide open, to never heal, to bleed again and again, …to leave me in an agony of loneliness for the vast majority of every single day. This wasn't the marriage I had vowed to. This wasn't a marriage at all.

A month had passed since that fateful night when my choice had sealed my future, and every bit of our relationship was at a stagnant standstill. A month…, a month without seeing sky or sun, …a month without interaction with any other human beings, …a month without even seeing my husband's real face….

My lesson ended on a high note literally and figuratively, a glorious, open pitch that nearly shook the walls with its power, surprising both me and my teacher.

"Brilliant," Erik complimented with as much of a smile as he usually gave, not a full one but enough to say he was pleased. "That last section of the aria was flawless, and the cadenza flowed seamlessly."

My own humbled grin and the blush that was always attached slowly faded when I saw his hands closing the score before him. "Oh, …are we finished?"

"For today. You did well, Christine."

I felt the walls that were on the verge of resurrection even before they rose, and frantically, I blurted out, "May I cook you supper?"

He looked at me oddly; neither of us had expected such an urgently-spoken question, the very tone of my voice making it seem like some dire situation. To me, it was…. But slowly, he shook his head. "I don't think so-"

"You won't eat with me because you can't wear your mask," I interrupted, surprised by my own boldness. Taking a deep breath to calm myself and find something like control, I attempted again, avoiding his flaring expression and the anger I knew would come behind it, "Please. I want to share a meal with you, a real meal that doesn't constitute me eating alone, and I find your reasoning to deny such a simple thing ridiculous. I've seen your face; why do you feel so inclined to hide it?"

That temper stirred in his cold stare so vividly that the chill of it crept along my spine, but I only half-regretted my words and held my ground. "Why?" he spat back at me. "Why, indeed! You can be so utterly naïve! There is a decisive difference between looking upon this face and sharing a meal with it!"

Maybe I _was_ naïve, but I couldn't help to reply, "I don't understand."

He huffed his open annoyance. "Yes, I realize that! And how could you? It is far beyond your ability to comprehend, which is why I don't expect such things from you. I leave things be as they are; why can you not do the same?"

My own temper flickered at that; never did I indulge it with Erik, his being more than enough to deal with and often frightening me and keeping me from fighting back. Strong, I needed to be strong if I ever intended to get what I wanted. "Because I am your wife," I stated with the slightest edge of anger's bite.

"_Wife_?" The word was heaved right back at me like an insult. "Really, Christine? Is this the discussion you wish to start right now?"

"If not now, then when? We've avoided it for a month, and you'd likely have us continue to do so for the rest of our lives!"

His mouth dropped wide and agape. It amused me to consider that he had assumed I would follow his lead forever; it equally amused me to know I could shock him so deeply. "_This_," he pointed between us, "is _not_ a marriage! _This_ is an act of domination! This is a means of exploiting you, of making you prisoner and prize and one of my very possessions in this house! Another pretty trinket won by my skill and power."

Tears choked the back of my throat, destroying my bravado as I whispered blamefully, "You're lying." It was a weak accusation at best, and as he leapt to his feet and came to stand before me, I remained frozen in place, lacking strength to do much else when the wind felt so knocked out of me.

"Why must you push me?" he demanded coldly as my weary eyes lifted to meet his. "I have not laid a hand on you; I have done nothing to hurt you. For the most part, I have let you be in the time you've been under this roof. You should be grateful that I _haven't_ treated this like a marriage!"

"Grateful," I repeated the word distantly. Dear Lord, he was the only person who could hurt me so completely and break me so irrevocably, and the worst part of all was that he was unaware of my pain…. He thought he was being merciful.

Proving his own point, Erik went on, explaining what didn't need to be said. He really did consider me so naïve, and how I wanted to scream at him that I wasn't! "I could have forced so much of you, Christine! I could have demanded that you _be_ my wife! You have no idea what you have been spared!"

"Then why?" I whispered, courage down to a solitary dying ember. "Why did you insist to marry me?"

I saw something in those eyes, something akin to a tenderness from long ago, but he quickly pushed it back and only answered, "I don't know."

With that, he suddenly turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the front door on his escape from the house itself. I heard the lock click into place and wondered if he believed I would try to run away after our little confrontation. He didn't even seem confident to know I wouldn't….

Hope was thriving yet within me. …Because of his answer. If any of his previous rant had been true, he would have sought to hurt me, to insist again that I was only being claimed as a prize. I knew he was lying then as I knew it now. …And if nothing else, it encouraged my heart onward.

It was very late when Erik finally returned to the house. I was lying awake in bed, my door opened a thin slit so that I would hear him as he quietly entered his own bedroom. As usual, he would assume I was asleep, and on any other night, he would have been right. Tonight, however, I wasn't going to rest until our conversation was finished, and I certainly wasn't going to let him flee midway again. No. I waited patiently a little longer until I knew he must be seeking sleep. Then I left my room and silently padded down the hallway to his.

Erik's room was one I had only entered twice upon my perusal of the house. In fact, it was odd for me even to place him within its dark walls because he was always awake before me, asleep after me. Considering him lying beneath the satin sheets of the over-sized, black-framed bed was an image I couldn't conjure up…until I actually saw it before me, blatantly on display when I snuck into the open doorway of the room. Did he leave it so ajar to hear me in case I got up? If so, his intentions were pointless. He was quite asleep already.

A smile I could not conceal creased my lips to see him beneath the hazy faint glow of the bedside lamp he always kept barely lit. Erik, my Erik, teacher, angel, phantom though not my favorite of his personas, lay peacefully asleep in his bed, clothed in black, silken nightclothes, maskless and vulnerable and yet still so very powerful in aura alone. I couldn't even breathe for that moment, terrified any noise or movement on my part would destroy the scene completely before I could entirely appreciate it. _I love him_, that was my one, transcending thought, and what reinforced my plan when a good part of me would have been content simply to gaze upon that scarred face.

In the gentlest tone I could make, I called to him, still lingering just within the doorway for fear of how he would react to my intrusion, "Erik?"

He stirred immediately, and first thing, his hand darted to the bedside table for his mask, his fingers hasty as they replaced it. "Christine? What? What is it?"

"I…I can't sleep." The instant his mismatched eyes were on me, I felt my weakness threatening to return. It made me tremble on my feet and hesitate before the words I wanted would land on my tongue. "May I…may I sit with you for a moment?"

At first, he didn't answer, and I prepared my next line of pleading in my head, ready to be called upon if needed. Finally, he let out a breath he must have been holding and said, "Just for a moment."

My knees wobbled beneath my weight as I crept the few steps to the vacant bedside and tentatively took a seat upon the soft mattress. On the opposite side, he had sat upright, watching my approach expectantly, and keeping his stare in mine, I dared to lift the edge of the covers and slide my legs beneath them, resting their edge at my waist as if I belonged in this scene with him. …It was awkward, and yet neither of us drew attention to that.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked after a moment, eyes never leaving mine.

He seemed to want to talk, which both surprised and delighted me, urging my own honesty. "I was being bothered by what you said earlier." Pausing, I gave him the chance to deny his claims, to state things correctly and tell me the truth, but he remained pensively studying me, forcing me to broach the topic myself. "Do you regret this, Erik? …Do you regret marrying me? …Is there even anything to this for you?"

A huffed sigh escaped him after a moment, and I hoped he was not about to snap at me in a rage. How could he? I had asked so gently without even the hint of a threat.

"You have no idea, Christine," he finally replied in a soft tone, one I hadn't been privileged to hear in months. "You have no idea how things have changed for me, how the seemingly mundane to you is just so new and so thrilling to me. You, here…, and everything you do. Just to come home to somebody's presence, to feel life in this house. …Sometimes I'll be lingering in the sitting room late into the evening, and I'll hear you singing while in the bathtub. To you, it is a trivial, unimportant detail, something you just do without thought behind it; to me, it is…everything."

I felt the depth of my blush like fire under my skin, sure I was red as could be, as I stammered, "You…you hear that…? …Me?"

He smiled with amusement. He actually smiled, genuinely so, and I was so stunned and enamored that I knew had I been standing, my legs would have given out on me. There was even a flutter of a chuckle in his voice (a chuckle!) as he replied, "It's quite the eclectic array of tunes you favor. I find it entirely intriguing. You will flow seamlessly from a French art song to a Swedish folk song to a parlor piece I've never heard before. Those parlor songs are certainly nothing I've ever taught you; you know how I feel about such popular tastes."

I nodded matter of factly and replied, "Music that is watered down so the general public can understand it." I could remember a drawn-out rant he had once gone into on the subject ages ago. Dear God, the memory was so long buried. He had been Angel then, not even a man, and I, ignorant child as I had been and enchanted by him even then, had sought to learn every detail he would give, including his preferred tastes in music. Parlor songs had been an inquiry and had sparked so much more than the yes or no answer I had been expecting.

"Exactly," he agreed. "But you sing them so lovely that I forget not to like them…. Of course, all of this I hear in echoes and through barriers, eavesdropping if you will. …Such things are precious to me right now. Ridiculous as that seems. They remind me that I am not alone…. I've been alone for so long. I'd gotten used to quiet and the usual void it leaves." He hesitated then, holding my stare so somber as he firmly stated, "I don't regret marrying you, Christine…. I just wish I had done it for better reasons. You asked me earlier why, and I didn't give you an answer. I'd almost rather lie to you than admit the truth because it's so…pathetic, horrible even."

I felt sure he was about to avoid that very truth again, force it aside before I could learn of it, and I was desperate not to allow him to do so. I had only a split second to consider how far I could push before he would leap to anger's call. With Erik, it was never far. I had to take the chance and softly whispered across the chasm separating us, "Tell me…. Why did you marry me, Erik?"

I could read the disgust in the sneer that crossed his masked face. "I might as well give you one more reason to think of me as a monster; it doesn't matter anymore anyway. …Selfishly, I married you so that the Vicomte couldn't. I married you to have a viable hold on you, to keep you here…, and to hurt you. I knew I was taking away your future, the one you wanted, and I didn't care. So go on. Tell me you hate me, and things can continue on as they have been. I'll teach you, if you would still like, …and that will be all."

Listening to him speak, one could almost believe he was apathetic toward what he had done; he played detachment so well. But I knew better. And suddenly I understood why he was determined to avoid me and keep distance between us. It wasn't to punish me; it was because my very presence was punishing him.

"That isn't a fair proposal," I said after a moment, careful to keep my inner thoughts as my own. "I married you, expecting a marriage, even a slightly unconventional one. And maybe neither of us truly knows what that means, but you have decided for both of us that we won't even try to figure it out. I don't want to hate you, Erik; I _don't_ hate you. And I definitely don't want this separation between us for the rest of our lives. Doesn't it affect you even a little?"

"Of course it does!" he declared with such vehemence in every syllable. "It's killing me to be so cold toward you…. You were once my only friend in the world, …even in my life. Do you remember? …We used to be so close…. I've never trusted anyone the way I trusted you."

I wanted to leave things there, for that to be all that was considered and spoken of. But I knew he couldn't. And the rest of the story was the part I longed to forget and knew he never would.

"And then…that boy came." There were wisps of rage skirting his eyes with the very mention of Raoul, but they were dwarfed by the pain there, vividly on display, vibrant to its core. He had always concealed it with the anger and cruelty. How often before realization had come to me had I neglected to see that at the center of it he was only a man with a broken heart? How often had I refused to face my own hand in his creation, refused to lay blame on myself, and instead chosen to accept Raoul's persuasions?

"Erik," I feebly attempted, "those things are past us now-"

"They aren't; they can't be," he interrupted solemnly. "Ask yourself the same question you asked me, Christine. Why did _you_ marry _me_? And you will see just how integral a role every bit of those agonizing months has played to put us here and is still playing now."

"No," I argued back, not as convicted as he but only due to a lingering deficiency in courage. "_I_ made the choice. I chose to marry you. …And I don't regret it."

He didn't believe me, so certain of my supposed ulterior motives, but before I could force my protests upon him, he pushed me back altogether. "It's quite late, Christine, too late to be dueling out our past and its faults. Far enough has been laid out tonight. Go on to bed."

A furrow creased my brow, but what could I truly argue to that? He was pulling away, and if nothing else, I knew the pointlessness of striving for more that way. I'd only end up angering him and damaging every miniscule bridge I had just built.

So rather than push, I instead opted for a fraction of the boldness I was growing and timidly, under the pink of a blush, asked, "May I sleep here with you?"

The shock in his eyes amused me for the instant he allowed it to be seen. Then regaining his composure, he bypassed an answer and posed another challenge. "Since you are so keen on making choices, you decide what you will do, Christine, of your own free will without coercion attached."

Rising to the occasion, I held his stare and scooted lower beneath the covers, laying down and curling on my side facing him. It was so delightfully smooth under those satin sheets, and yet I immediately attuned my senses to his nearness, to the heat growing and fluctuating between our bodies, to the very scent of him lingering on the pillow my cheek was pressed to. It surprised me how comfortable it felt to be with him this way without even a flash of our previous awkwardness. No, this felt too right….

Tentative yet, he imitated my actions, eyes always with mine, facing me on his side so hesitant still, cautious even. I had to wonder why. Once again, I bore the thought that he was afraid of me. …Was he?

Silence extended yet neither of us seemed to blink as we gazed at one another…, waiting. Finally, I was the one to break it. "You know, there was another question that you earlier would not answer. …Why would it be so terrible to share a meal together?"

I wondered if he would still employ patience with me or if this was too much, and when he gave a small huff, I prepared myself for the brunt of his temper. But his voice was devoid of any hint of anger as he answered, "Your inquisitiveness gave you the answer already. I can't eat with the mask in place. It is one of the very few things I must do without it…. I am uncomfortable to be so exposed and won't subject you to such a thing. The mask exists for a purpose, Christine. It gives me some semblance of dignity over the things I can't control."

"You married me without it," I gently argued with a memory of the priest's abhorred reaction and Erik's lack of regard to it at the time.

"Cruelly, I was hoping to shake you," he admitted blatantly. "I was so sure you were playing a role and that your determination was a façade. …I wanted to remind you _what_ you were marrying."

Cruel, …yes, that would have been cruel had he been correct, only as we both knew, I had proved him wrong. Shaking my head against the satin of the pillow, I insisted, "And you can't sleep with the mask in place either. So you will take it off and sleep beside me now."

"But I will turn the light out, so you won't see it."

I felt a childish pout threatening. He was giving me no room to argue on the subject, a subject I truly thought ridiculous at this point in our relationship. I had to remind myself that to him, it was the absolute cornerstone of his life; to him, his face and his deformity had _made_ his life exactly what it was.

"A compromise," I suddenly declared before he could end this conversation as well. "One meal like a real family at the table, and if I make you feel uncomfortable even for an instant, you can replace your mask and I will never ask you to remove it again."

"You think very highly of your tolerance level," he accused. "You are overly confident in this situation without the right to be. As I've said, _seeing_ this face isn't the same as what you're asking."

Overly confident? I felt I did have the right to be as I justified with one fact. "I've kissed that face. Kissing is another act you can't indulge with your mask in place."

Silence followed, and Erik grew meditative, surprising me to know he was having to formulate an argument. Usually, he could think faster on his feet than anyone I'd ever met. To know I had actually stunned him to contemplation was a minor victory for me and my hopeless plight.

When he finally met my stare again, there was a hint of amusement within him as he conceded, "One meal. We'll put that confidence of yours to the test and see what comes of it."

The grin I gave him was exuberant; it was triumphant. Yet I dared to confirm. "And you won't change your mind, will you? You won't disappear like the last time and leave me disappointed and eating alone?"

"I may not have eaten with you, but I have been here every morning for breakfast for weeks now. I can't risk leaving and potentially missing your lesson. It is, after all, the one high point of my day."

"Mine, too," I admitted plainly. "Then breakfast it is, and we'll eat together."

"It's settled."

Before I could reply, he reached over to the bedside table and turned out the light, and the darkness stole his image from my eager eyes. My ears caught the shuffling of limbs as I felt sure he was removing his mask again, and I knew the irrational urge to extend my hand to him, to find those scars he wanted still to keep as his own and caress their irregular shapes. But I did not dare give in even though the temptation was fierce. _One step at a time_, I insisted to myself. This was already quite the turning point. Slow was better where Erik was concerned.

"Erik?" I called gently across the darkness.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Goodnight, _ange_."

I heard the breath escape him in a soft sigh at my chosen appellation, unused in far too long. Angel…, he was _always_ angel to me.

"Goodnight," he breathed in a whisper, and I shivered in spite of myself. It was as if every letter, vowels and consonants, had touched me and caressed me. God, that voice! It _was_ ethereal and oh so powerful, and how willing I was to surrender to it again and again.

When I fell asleep that night, I was so deliciously content. In more than a physical sense, Erik seemed within my reach now, and I felt sure that since that was what we both wanted in hearts and souls, it would have to be the inevitable outcome. Yes, it just had to be….


	3. Chapter 3

I could feel myself beaming when I entered the dining room the next morning and found breakfast laid out beautifully, …_two_ plates and an assortment of delicious food. Erik sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea and seeming already uncomfortable with the whole concept even though his mask had yet to be removed. But the instant his eyes landed on me, I saw the expression there soften and grow into something beautiful, something I had so missed and longed to see.

Like a silly little schoolgirl, I had taken extra care to dress and ready myself that morning, choosing a pink gown with a chiffon bow in the back and lace trim, my favorite from my wardrobe. My dark curls had been tied half-back with a similar ribbon with shorter tendrils I had tirelessly twisted and retwisted around my fingers till they lay perfectly framing my face. Perfection…, yes, I was after perfection, and it was overwhelming to me as Erik's eyes ran over every nuance of my appearance and gave his delight away. For a man who often kept a wall between his emotions and outward expression of them, any bit meant he actually felt quite a lot more.

"You look lovely," he said before regretting it with a mental lashing that I saw in a cringe, wall abruptly rebuilt.

But I acted unaffected and only beamed brighter at the compliment, hoping my reaction alone would encourage more as I took my seat beside him. "Did you cook all of this?" I asked, gesturing to the table brimming with platters. Surely there was enough food for three breakfasts.

"I…I've been awake for awhile," he justified, "and…I needed something to keep busy."

Nervous, my mind concluded. He was nervous for every bit of this. But I was as resolved as I had been the previous night, unwilling to allow myself to doubt, even when his own apprehension tried to inspire mine. It was just a face, and the sooner Erik could understand that, the sooner we could actually have a marriage.

"Well, …shall we eat then?" I posed lightly and watched him expectantly all the while. I knew how badly he yearned to change his mind and perhaps launch into a rage instead, anything to rid himself of the situation, so I kept a reassuring smile in place and did not push him to be ready.

His hands shook as they rose to the mask. It astounded me that he was actually afraid. How many times in our past had he thrown that face on display to try and terrify me? But, I guessed, when using something like that as a weapon, it had power and purpose. Now he was attempting to use it to be something ordinary, performing an ordinary task, and it just wasn't.

I caught the briefest echo of his harshly taken breath in the moment he lowered the mask, and then his eyes were desperately seeking mine, searching for some sort of approval. I just smiled, proud to see such bravery from a man I had never thought could be lacking in it.

"Now, shall we eat?" I asked again as if there wasn't a veritable corpse sitting next to me at the table. With a face like his, he was just that, and I loved him even more for it. I saw in that mangled face what others never could. I saw the soul of it. It was in the light of that sunken emerald eye, in the thin, luminescent coat of skin across a hollow cheek, in the nonexistent nose. It was tarnished, and it was twisted, but it was brilliant.

Erik hesitated, his eyes still searching mine for what he had obviously presumed would be there, what he had _planned_ to be there. "You're…sure, Christine?"

I nodded adamantly. "Yes, of course I'm sure. Why does that surprise you so much?"

He didn't answer. Slowly, tentative in every sense of the word, he reached for the plate of eggs, serving himself and yet casting glances at me at every opportunity. I didn't let him know how much his constant suspicion was affecting me as I imitated his actions, taking the plate from him as though all of this was the most normal thing. And wasn't it? For us, it was; new and different even, but this was our version of normal. And I was determined that in a few weeks' time, none of this awkwardness would be remembered. We would just eat together like our own little family, and the fact that my husband was maskless wouldn't cross either of our minds.

To me, this was all the beginning, and the only end I wanted was one without a mask altogether, one where my darling Erik would display his face proudly to me, one where I could kiss my husband whenever I wanted without having to first undergo suspicions in his eyes that it was all a lie. …I really hoped he was realizing that I wasn't that good of a liar….

All right, to be honest, there was a bit of a strangeness to watching Erik eat, …more like spying on Erik eating because I couldn't bear for him to misunderstand my intrigue over the entire process. With such a transparent layer of skin on his disfigured side, the very workings of his mouth were prominently put on display at every bite, the movement of his jaw, the chewing of his teeth. It caught my attention at first in the way a science experiment would: the inner mechanics of the mastication process. Then as I considered that that was how my own mouth likely looked behind a skin barrier, how _every person's_ mouth looked, the novelty dimmed until it didn't seem unusual at all anymore. I was so exceedingly careful to hide every bit of this from Erik, terrified to give him the failure he was seeking from me, most especially with my own condition attached: that I would never again see his face. There was quite a bit of pressure always in the peripheral. I _couldn't_ fail; it was inconsiderable.

"Erik," I called, though his attention had been in a constant shift between me and his plate every moment, "everything is so delicious, and…." I smiled, hoping and praying he saw the depth of my emotions in my gaze. "I am enjoying sharing a meal with you so much. …Are you? …Is this really as horrible as you thought it would be?"

Setting down his fork alongside his plate, he pondered as he slowly and blatantly chewed and swallowed, testing me I knew, but my eyes were only on his. _Thank God the novelty had worn off!_ "Not horrible," he conceded after a moment more. "No, not horrible. …You surprise me."

"How so?" I pushed, regarding him with a tilt of my head and a fraction of a light playfulness I had not indulged in ages with him.

"You're stronger than I ever remember you being," he replied honestly, and I thrilled to know he was _finally_ seeing it. "This whole situation I had thought would have broken you by now. But instead of falling and weakening, …you…blossom even down here in the dark, …even with me."

"Maybe _because_ of you."

Those misshapen lips, ones I tingled to consider kissing again, curved into a slow, timid smile, so many questions, so many doubts in the background but held at bay.

"So?" I gently questioned. "Does this mean we can have our meals together from now on? Or must I talk you into each and every one?"

Again, his fixed stare was probing mine before, not finding what he wanted, he demanded, "Tell me honestly, Christine. Does eating with me bother you? …Why does it not seem as grotesque a sight to you as I know it is?"

"It isn't," I insisted. "Haven't I proven as much?"

A lingering skepticism plagued the nodded answer I received, but he softly replied, "All right, we will eat together from now on."

* * *

If it had been left up to me, he wouldn't have replaced the mask for my lesson, but on some level, I could understand his need to be the proper teacher. He was no longer the Erik I had shared breakfast with, and I was not the Christine full of encouraging smiles. Months of practice made it easy for us to make a distinction, imperative and integral a part as it played to being loyal musicians. Everything else had to be put aside.

It was with a slight air of discomfort that Erik chose not to leave the house after my lesson, to remain and work on his music, which I knew was how he had usually spent his afternoons before I had come to live with him. I kept out of the way, knowing how engrossed he became once lost in composing, but from the other room where I had taken up a book, I could not keep from listening and delighting in the sound of the music filtering through the lonely house. It left a constant smile on my lips.

Supper had only half of breakfast's uncertainty, and with each bite, it dwindled further and further away as Erik's trust in me grew. Even conversation flowed smoother, almost with an air of friendliness to it, and dear Lord, I couldn't stop smiling still!

Afterward when all was straightened up again, my confidence was solidified enough to lead me to where Erik sat before the hearth, mask in place and making me miss his scars. I wondered how oddly pleasant they would have appeared with the inviting light of the fireplace to illuminate them, unthreatening, beautiful maybe.

"Is something wrong, Christine?" he asked to my pensive expression.

"No, …I wanted to ask for a favor." I hesitated beneath his awaiting stare that gave not even one of his inner thoughts away. "Could we perhaps take a walk up to the roof? I haven't seen the sky in weeks…; there will be stars out by now and the moon. I would love to look upon them for even just a moment."

There was a flicker in his eyes that told me that he suspected something else, and it hurt me to consider that he would mistrust me so much. What did he think? That I would run as soon as we were beyond the catacombs? I hadn't even asked to go out into the world. If escape were my intent, why would I confine myself to the roof with him? And why could _he_ not reason that?

"The roof?" he posed, and surpassing the denial I felt certain would come grew a challenge. "All right, Christine. A walk up to the roof. Get a cloak. There will surely be a chill in the air."

There already was, from what I could tell. Yet again he was testing me. He _wanted_ me to attempt to run, to forget the fact that even if I had tried, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere. He wanted to give himself the reason he needed not to trust me, to prove that all of my endeavors at reaching out to him were manipulative at the core. It left me resolutely determined to make him sorry for ever doubting.

Our journey through the catacombs and up into the world was a silent one, but when we emerged through one of Erik's hidden entrances onto the rooftop, the cold night air and its refreshing crispness made me forget all else. Had I really lived without fresh air for an entire month? I had forgotten how delicious it was! And the night sky filled to excess with moon and stars was a veritable work of art to eyes that had been in the dark for so long.

Tossing my head back and arms out as if I meant to embrace things that were virtually untouchable, I laughed with delight and purposely paid no heed to Erik's constant stare. He could consider me dramatic and ridiculous, but I was too engrossed in savouring every detail for fear of how long I would go without them again to care.

"Don't you miss this when you're underground and buried away all of the time?" I asked, gesturing to the twinkling stars above our heads.

Erik was lingering back, simply watching me with arms crossed over his chest. "Nature's beauty shrivels in comparison to the ugliness of humanity. If avoiding the one means I have to give up the other, it is a meager sacrifice to make."

I knew I had no right to argue when his past was an unspoken vacancy neither of us wanted to put words to. I didn't need details to know it was awful, unfathomable even. "And I've given you little reason myself to think differently." My own mistakes were as guilt-ridden as his, and I cringed beneath the weight as I wearily sat down on the ledge surrounding the edge of the rooftop.

Erik shook his head and corrected, "You've given me the _only_ reason to think differently. Even amidst all of the bad times we've endured, the good ones far outshine any in my life."

I didn't reply right away. To me, the bad were shameful and unforgivable even. It astounded me to realize the capacity for cruelty I possessed, especially when I had previously considered myself a compassionate person. But I was little better than the many persecutors and tormentors Erik had been subject to at every angle, …worse because he cared for me.

Sighing softly, I kept my eyes on the stars as I revealed, "I've known loneliness before. When my father died and I found myself utterly alone in the world, I barely believed I would survive the void I was left with. But then I came to the opera, and an angel taught me to sing and filled every empty space in my life and in my heart until I felt whole. These past months that we were apart from each other, I realized that I had only known loneliness' shadow before. I was…lost, walking around hardly alive in the world. …But the worst of it, beyond that even, has been this past month. Living with you but being further from you than ever and not being able to reach you."

"Christine, stop." His voice was saturated in a pain I was sure he didn't want to show me but could not conceal. Raising my eyes to him, I felt it hit me with blunt force to the gut, creasing the features of the unmarred side of his face in a way I was sure was reflected across scars as well.

"Erik." I could not keep from trying, even though better sense protested and fought with me. "I have to make you understand. I married you because-"

"Because you had to, because I would have strangled your lover if you hadn't." He snapped the words bitterly. "Your reason was noble enough. You sacrificed yourself to save the man you loved. I understand it perfectly well; now leave it at that!"

"I can't," I whispered, feeling tears I did not want clogging my throat. Dear God, I didn't want to seem weak now. "It isn't true."

"Christine!" he warned sharply. "I have not the patience required for this discussion! Leave it be!"

But I couldn't and wouldn't. I had already incurred his rage and likely caused another tear in everything I had just accomplished. I realized that I had everything to gain by this and nothing left to lose. Forcing away tears, I snapped back, "Why then did I kiss you, Erik? Have you not considered that at all? If my intention was only to save Raoul, I could have committed myself with a word. Why did I kiss you?"

His answer was so quiet and yet it tore a hole through me as if an entire orchestra had struck a loud and violent crescendo. "To hurt me, of course."

I couldn't breathe, and the next breath I managed nearly an entire minute later burned its way into my lungs. Mid-gasp, I demanded, "What?"

The confidence in his conclusion was unwavering. "I hurt you, and you wanted to hurt me back, to taunt me with what I wanted most of all and what could never fully be mine…. I could have forced kisses on you since then, more than that even, and everything would have been as much a lie as that first kiss."

"No, no," I miserably whimpered, the tears coming then in silent paths. "A…a lie…. How could you think that? How could you…?" For one more breath, I was lost, and then with a suddenness that surprised us both, I leapt to my feet and stalked toward him. "I'll prove it! I'll prove it! I'll kiss you right now. No coercion, no Vicomte, no choice to be had. I'll kiss you because I _want _to kiss you."

"No, Christine!" His hand had risen to halt my approach. Did he think I would tear his mask away on my own? …Would I? …I was certainly determined enough in my plight.

"Yes!" I shouted back, his temper no longer a factor. Let him rage at me. Little could deter my conviction. "Take off your mask, or I will do it for you."

My challenge did not hold the power that one of his did, and if anything, he seemed to scoff a bit in disbelief.

When he made no move to comply, I accused, "Are you more afraid that you will be right and I am lying, or that I'm telling the truth and I genuinely want to kiss you?"

"Afraid?" He spat the word as if it was the most heinous of insults. "I am not a man who fears many things in this world."

"Yet you fear me." How often had I thought it and not said it?

"_You_ are _destroying_ me!" Fire flared brightly in those eyes, his hands clenching in fists before me as if seeking control, but I never moved away, rooted to the spot yet never considering myself foolish. He wouldn't hurt me; I knew that as confidently as I knew he loved me. Even at the height of his rage, he would never lay a hand or fist on me.

"Take off your mask, Erik," I calmly commanded again, even staring into the face of a hellish anger.

"And if you cower, shall I force you, Christine?" he retorted, leaning closer across the modest distance between us to establish his valid threat. "Shall I force myself upon you, _as is my right_? And bed you like the monster you believe me to be? Shall I become the man I was on the night I forced you to marry me, the one on the very brink of insanity's grasp?"

"That wasn't you," I insisted sternly.

"It was! And it was _you_ who drove me to it! You and your naïve little games with my heart that created that love-starved madman!" His hands only then opened from their fists to catch me by my upper arms. "Do you know how ashamed I am whenever I consider that night? How it sickens me to know what I did and why I did it? I let loving you and hating you come together to become one powerful drug that consumed me." His unmarred features were as contorted with rage as those hidden from my sight were by default. "And now, _now_ you come before me with your innocence shining like some tempting beacon, and you wave in front of me the very object of my obsession…. A kiss…. One kiss. How I have dwelled on that one act for weeks! Desperate for answers to the exact questions you put before me tonight! Can you not understand that I had to make it a lie? I had to or be completely lost again…to it and to you and to a heart that has suffered enough. That is why I beg of you, let it go! Let all of this go! Leave my broken heart and the scant bits that are left of me alone!"

Tears were streaming down my cheeks; I felt their cold descent without even acknowledging that I was crying. I had destroyed this man…; only now did I understand what that meant. It was something I was still ignorantly doing, and I wondered if he was right, if giving up on every one of my failed endeavors was the only way to salvage him. I would have done it, about to give a slow nod of consent, but he suddenly changed the game.

Releasing one of my tightly held arms, he removed that mask, that damnable barrier, and exposed his scars. With a pleading in his eyes that took my breath away, he begged as if for his very life and existence, "Go on, Christine. Show me it wasn't a lie. Prove me wrong…. _Please _prove me wrong."

I did not pause even one second, did not give consideration to the concluding consequences. No. I pressed my lips to those bloated, misshapen ones, pouring passion like salt on the gaping wound in my own heart. He still had one arm in his grasp, and with my free hand, I dared to cup his scars. Never before had I touched them, never before learned the oddities of their textures and shapes. Now I practically melted from the first contact, letting my fingertips graze that sunken eye cavity so tenderly.

He was crying…or I was; all I knew for certain was that tears smeared both of our cheeks. I could taste them as I moved my lips against his, coaxing him to follow, shivering delight when he did. He was far more tentative than I, always a question in the background, and as I continued to explore his scars with eager fingertips, he moaned against my lips and abruptly fell headfirst into the kiss, reservations evaporating.

Never before had I kissed or been kissed with such a rampant fervency. It was my tongue that slipped between the seam of those misshapen lips and tasted him, my own desirous whimper escaping unbridled when I felt him shudder. Even as I was relishing every instant, I drew back only to press fevered kisses along the bloated arch of his upper lip and then feather-light kisses to those oddities of features, lingering just above the place where his nose should be. Kiss after kiss and I tilted my face to nuzzle my bare, flawless cheek against his mangled one, wet tears captured between.

"Oh, Erik, Erik," I whispered desperately, "this is no lie. Please don't call this a lie…."

As abruptly as it began, it was over, and he jerked back and away from me, his eyes wide and wild as they met mine. I was shaking my head urgently, bidding, "No, no, Erik, please…."

It was beyond shock; it was some aghast form of horror I couldn't understand, feeling so sure he had felt what I had. Tears shimmered in pools in emerald and sapphire eyes, those misshapen lips parted still as they had been when mine were there, and as his stare went between me and his mask clutched in his hand, he suddenly turned and fled from the rooftop, from me, escaping into the darkness of his passages and leaving me alone in the moonlight.

* * *

Alone…, yet still my options were minimal. What hurt most was that he had left me, unknowing if I would make an escape and be gone from his life entirely. And I could have. I knew the way out of the operahouse, could have used it, could have made the last month no more than a nightmare. But I didn't. And it was for reasons that far exceeded the legal bindings of a marriage. Alone, I wandered the dark catacombs on a path I well knew, a path home it now was, and found the house just as we had left it…and lacking of Erik's presence. I hadn't really thought he'd be there, but hope can cruelly draw conclusions on its own. He'd be back; only that thought soothed me.

I took a hot bath to chase out a chill that was beyond skin deep, prepared for bed, read a little, and still Erik did not return. It was late. After the emotionally exhausting day I had had, my eyes were heavy enough to begin to drift closed without my consent, and I knew I'd never be awake when he finally arrived. So giving up my vigil, I decided to go to sleep…in his bed. Bold, yes, but he would have to come across me and hopefully wake me in the process. Even a verbal lashing for my indiscretion would be welcomed.

Sinking down beneath the satin cocoon, I deeply inhaled his longed-for scent into my lungs, intoxicating myself on it as my mind imagined him lying beside me as he had been the previous night. Just knowing he was near had been enough to calm me then. Tonight after kissing him and touching his face, how could such a minimal pleasure ever suffice?

At some point, I slept. I cannot say how long, but my next coherency came in the form of a cold yet gentle pressure against my mouth. Erik…. Was I dreaming? I must be, but his lips felt so real, swollen and smooth, a texture all their own, and that chill that dulled the longer they were against mine. It was when they tenderly moved enough that his tongue was grazing my lips and tasting me that I knew it was real and I was awake. My arms disentangled themselves from the covers to encircle his neck and caress his maskless face as returning consciousness took note that he was stretched out beside me atop the barrier of the covers. His skin was frigid, breaking into the growing spirals of desire assaulting me to insist he had been outside. Dear God, had he simply wandered about the city all night? That agonizing idea made me draw back enough to look at that scarred face in the dimly lit bedside lamp.

"I didn't lie," I pleaded for him to believe me. "I didn't lie."

"I know," he softly replied, bending near to rub his scarred cheek against mine, nuzzling my warm skin and stealing some of that heat. Turning, he let the empty hollow and two holes from which he breathed graze my small nose, and I eagerly tilted my face upward enough to kiss the very spot. "Christine," he breathed laden with such an immeasurable depth of emotion that I ached to hear him repeat only that, my name just that way, forever.

My trembling fingers tugged on the edge of the blankets, and he drew them back to climb beneath with me, immediately pulling me into his arms, the only place I wanted to be. I cuddled in to him, savouring every hard plane of his body, every muscle and limb, desperate to be lost to every one.

Erik's hands gently combed through my hair, his lips laying kisses to the crown of my head as he bid, "Go to sleep, Christine."

I was too exhausted and too blissfully content where I was to protest. No thought of tomorrow needed to be considered, no worries over our future. Not tonight. No, not tonight. Tonight my dreams would only be delightful.


	4. Chapter 4

The week that followed was almost my dream brought to life, …_almost_. Our relationship had regrown its roots of friendship, returning the sense of comfort, camaraderie, and trust we had once had. We spent time together, talking, laughing, learning, close as ever. Our every meal was shared, and removing the mask was without a second thought even if he still wore it the rest of the day, my next challenge to be had. In the evenings by his own suggestion, he took me for walks through the city, our arms joined like a courting couple. At night, I slept in his bed, in his arms, pleased to peer up at his maskless face every so often in the lamp he left lit. He wasn't hiding anymore, and I wasn't turning away.

Yes, things were settled and pleasant, and wasn't it petty and a bit childish on my part to want more? Erik was keeping this barrier between us that, though flimsy and nearly transparent at best, was unbreakable at its source. Physical contact was limited to those arm in arm walks and the occasional idle touch, always innocently chaste. The only taste I was ever given of the true extent of the passion brewing and thriving in his veins was at night as I eagerly went into his arms and he lifted away the mask from hindrance. Then he would kiss me goodnight in a way that made every pore in my body come alive and sing with need. One kiss, always only one, and he would pull away and smile so tenderly at me that I would lose my will to argue and beg for more. The first couple of nights, I had assumed he was perhaps holding back for my sake, perhaps waiting to make certain that I wouldn't shy away. But as things instead fixed into a standard routine, I grew impatient and restless. He was my husband, and I wanted him in a way that almost terrified me with its uncontrollable power. If not for the identical reflection I felt in that single kiss every night, I would have concluded, and with great disappointment, that he did not desire me in that manner. But no. I had an intuitive hunch that the desire in him outshone my own even, but whether he was afraid to indulge it because of me or because of himself, I did not know and was apprehensive to ask.

One afternoon at the end of the week, I was bustling about the sitting room, dusting end tables, straightening up a bit, preferring to keep myself occupied when Erik was out, which thankfully wasn't so often anymore. Just as I was finishing and deciding which room to move to next, I heard the door open and rushed to the foyer with a welcoming smile on my lips. But to my surprise, Erik's own smile far exceeded mine. Had I ever seen him so blatantly excited about anything?

"What?" I asked with the smallest giggle of delight.

"Come here. Come here." Catching my elbow in his palm, he steered me back into the sitting room and had me sit on the couch as he declared, "I have a surprise for you, something I think will please you very much."

Now my interest was beyond piqued, and my brows arched curiously as he withdrew from the inner pocket of his jacket a rolled-up paper. Beaming still, Erik glanced between my awaiting expression and the paper as he opened it and laid it out on my lap. …And I gasped!

It was…a house! Or a diagram of one, plans drawn to precision of exterior and interior with measurements scribbled here and there in Erik's handwriting. I knew without a doubt that he had designed it, recalling his stories of being an architect in Italy for a stint, and surely every detail about the house's created façade had an Italian flare intermixed with some indiscernible factor that was purely Erik.

"This is…. This is…," I stuttered, searching for words enough to say what I felt.

"Our future home," he filled in for me, "…if you like it, of course."

"Like it? Erik, it's beautiful!" My fingertips were tracing the front porch railing with its curved spindles as my head envisioned it in full dimensional form. "Did you design this for me?"

"Down to the most minute detail," he proudly answered, eagerly taking a seat beside me and adjusting the drawing to rest equally on both of our laps. "See, the porch will extend all the way around the house, whose back will face the setting sun, if I've arranged it correctly. We can watch the sunset every night then over the horizon, watch the stars appear since you are partial to such natural wonders."

I felt tears in the back of my throat, making their presence known as I lifted grateful eyes to my elated husband. "That's…perfect," I softly reveled, adoring him in my gaze.

"And," Erik excitedly continued, "these plans can be altered to whatever you wish, Christine. They are not set and final yet. So, more rooms, less rooms, anything. Name it, and I will do it for you." Gesturing to the interior diagram, he rested his fingers on the upper floor. "Right now, measurements taken into account, the upstairs is laid out for four bedrooms. I know that is a lot, but we can make them anything we'd like. They need not _be_ bedrooms, you know."

In my head came the fleeting image of children with sweet cherub faces, and even though I mercifully pushed the vision away, the want remained. Could I be blamed for harboring a natural instinct to be a mother? …It was a desire I doubted my husband would understand or share.

I had grown silent with the thought, and Erik, urgent it seemed to regain my smile, continued, "And if you'd like, you could have your own bedroom, as you do here, to decorate and adorn to your whims."

What he thought would please me only enhanced my melancholy. My own room…. The one down the hall was solely being used to house my clothing as of late. I no longer even liked its very existence; it laid a way out always there, a means to recreate distance instead of solve problems. …And now Erik was once again giving me that escape, thinking so wrongly that it would please me to know I had it, …a chance to change my mind.

"Christine?" he called gently, genuine concern in that golden voice. "What is it, _petite_?"

With desperate hands, I pushed the thoughts away and as far from my expression as I could, smiling with feigned elation. "It's just…overwhelming. The house is so beautiful. I know how you don't favor that world, and the fact that you would be willing to make your life there with me, for me is…. Oh, Erik, it's amazing."

"You _are_ my life now," he insisted vehemently, daring to lift a trembling hand to cup my cheek.

What he saw as solace only drove the sword deeper into my gut. A touch when I wanted so much more, wanted to _give him_ so much more. Again I was reminded that this still was not a marriage. There was love there, but reigned in so tightly. Neither of us had spoken the words; both of us were holding hearts at arm's length from each other. It was a love trapped by boundaries, barriers, and locks that I did not know how to break down.

In the vein of my very thoughts, he lowered his hand after a moment and rose with the diagram in his grasp, and I felt the extension of more than just physical distance between us.

"So," he was saying, "I've purchased the land. The final papers were signed just hours ago. It is a lot outside of the city with enough acres attached to give us our privacy from most of the world. As soon as the ground thaws, building can begin. I am calculating six months, and we will be able to move into our future. …Would you like me to find us something to rent until then, something above ground? I know another six months down here seems abysmal."

"No, no," I replied, glancing fondly about the sitting room. "This has grown to feel like home to me. In some way, it will even be sad to leave it. …Our very story was written here."

"Mostly the conflict in the middle," he corrected with a somber shake of his head, his fingers grazing the design. "Our happy ending will be written here, above ground, in the sunlight."

I did agree with that. It was just what I had always wanted for my future, a real home, not an underground prison, …even without the amorous affections of the man I had married.

* * *

Time went by, and soon enough to Erik's delight, construction began on our new home. As usual, he threw himself fully into the project, overseeing every step of his elaborate design, and I was proud by his initiative, interacting in the world he so hated, trusting no one but himself with the task. He even brought me a few times to see the progress, and although to my untrained eyes, it was just a basic foundation laid or a dug-out cellar, I mirrored his enthusiasm to show me, impatient only on the inside to see a real house instead.

Leading the development meant Erik was gone for hours at a time every day, and I could not help but feel lonely, having grown accustomed to his presence in the next room composing or setting the table as I finished preparing supper. It was those mundane things that constituted the makeup of our marriage, and without them, the true meager inadequacy of it was coming through to taunt me.

After that first month of construction, the melancholy was weighing heavily on my shoulders, and luckily, Erik finally took note of it on his own. We had just finished a relatively quiet breakfast, and lost in thought, I didn't even realize that Erik was attentively watching me until he spoke and shattered my reverie.

"You've barely taken a single bite," he commented, and I idly glanced at my full plate, having nearly forgotten it was there.

"Oh…. I guess I'm not very hungry this morning," I stammered. I should have assumed he wouldn't believe such a flimsy excuse.

I never was interrogated, never had to admit that something was upsetting me; as was often the case when he took the time to attune his emotions with mine, he could accurately guess the problem.

"I've been considering something," he began with an arching of his brows and a pensiveness I enjoyed seeing across all of his features without that infernal mask. "As you know, I still have a box at the opera, a secluded, private box that no one ever sees me enter or occupy. And tonight there is a performance, albeit one that won't be anywhere near as glorious as it would have been with you in the lead. But…we could attend."

My eyes had widened, my head reeling with the very possibility as I battled the childish urge to squeal in delight. "We could? Oh, Erik, could we really? I would love that so much!"

He smiled with an earnest exuberance that was the result of simply making me happy. It always amazed me that he took so much joy from spoiling me. "Then we shall go…. It will almost seem the outing of a normal couple."

"We've never been skilled at normal," I teased, delighted when he chuckled in reply.

"No, we haven't, but tonight we'll pretend. I'd much rather act the role of gentleman than be the Opera Ghost when I have you on my arm."

"I concur with that." Married to the Opera Ghost…. The thought had never crossed my mind even though it was entirely valid. I preferred to just consider myself married to Erik.

The term 'Opera Ghost' never again appeared in my head when we were clothed in our best and ready to leave our underground sanctuary. How could it refer to the same man as the one I was adoring with my stare? The mask was in place and yet not even a consideration; it took nothing away from his handsomeness in my eyes.

His own gaze was constantly on me from the time we departed and all during our ascent with a flickering smile and appreciation that thrilled me. My formal attire was deep blue with silver trim, low-cut, cap sleeves, a ruffled bustle in the back; it was the most elaborate in the wardrobe. Determined to appear the fine lady and play my role in this little game of pretend, I had taken great care in arranging my curls, sweeping them up and pinning them in place with enough pins to be sure they couldn't move. I wanted us to be the vision of an artist's portrait, a painting brought to life with that very idea of normal as a reality.

Capturing Erik's eyes as they roamed me again, I blushed beneath my timid smile and prompted his honesty. "And why are you examining me so intently?"

"You are exquisite, Christine," he remarked with a sincerity that brought goosebumps to life along my skin. Those golden tones could overwhelm me with a word; if only, in his attentive regard, he could see that!

Box 5 was just as Erik had said, private, secluded by the presence of thick curtains on either side and seats set back and out of view of anyone else. It was a relief of sorts. Too many people knew me and had heard exaggerated versions of my story. And Erik was practically a legend that was as eager as I not to be put on display.

From the moment the overture began out of the pit below, I knew a resonant, reminiscent thrill run through my body that quickly became a dull ache. I longed to be on that stage in a way I had not acknowledged that I felt. So long away from it when theatre life had begun to feel like a distant dream had made me forget how natural it had always been for me to be an integral part of it.

"You know," Erik softly said, leaning across the armrest between our seats to tell me, "I could easily have you put back on that stage. You belong there, Christine, in the spotlight. You were born for it."

Reading my mind again, I concluded, and yet I turned a grateful smile in his direction. "You know me too well."

"Well, yes, but the longing in your eyes says it all."

"I thought you liked me confined to the house," I teased with a grin, and yet he was entirely serious in his reply.

"I like you to see happy far more. So? Would you like to be on the stage again, _ange_, to dazzle them all with your brilliance?" Just as he asked, La Carlotta began her opening aria, and Erik cringed so dramatically that I hid a giggle behind my hand. "And the sooner the better for the entire world of the arts."

Giggling still, I nodded consent. "All right, but can you try to do it with as little deceit as possible this time? Your Opera Ghost notes used to cause quite a lot of trouble for me among my fellow cast."

"Connections, my sweet _ange_," he reminded. "If you know people in high places, you need to take advantage of that. Besides I may be the very vocal Opera Ghost, but I'm also the silent owner, so that makes me in charge legally as well."

I couldn't argue when he brought up that point. He _was_ the operahouse's owner, legitimately but secretly so and had been for years. The Opera Ghost was only a means to run things his way and remain unknown to his associates. He had learned long ago that his mask would pose a barrier even in the world of the rich and elite.

The opera itself was pleasant enough. A few times I could not help but mirror Erik's grimace when La Carlotta overshot a high note or butchered a cadenza I had sung perfectly for Erik in my lessons. Sensing my thoughts through my cringe of disappointment, he reached over after the fumbled passage and squeezed my hand to draw my attention his way.

"I hear _you _in my head," he softly said, leaning near my ear. "And you just sang it flawless as ever."

I stared at him in absolute wonder at the uncanny ability he possessed to make me feel like some sacred idol being reverently adored. It was in that heavenly voice and the light in his mismatched eyes. It was love as sure as if he had said the words, and my own heart responded with a flutter.

Though he had taken his hand away after that one contact, it was set near mine, and without a second thought, I slid my fingers along his palm and to intertwine with his cold ones, holding his intent stare all the while. He did not draw away again, and within minutes, his hand was no longer cold, matching my warmth so perfectly.

For the rest of the show, our hands remained entwined on the plush armrest, and every so often, I could not help but glance away from the drama onstage to regard them. Everything about it was innocent, but it meant something so powerful. It was strength and unity; it was the edge of the something more I yearned for, the very threshold to its path.

As the opera ended and applause rang out, Erik met my eye, and lifting my held hand, he grazed his bottom lip along my knuckles; it was as much of a kiss as he could give with the mask's obstruction. I savoured it, closing my eyes beneath a blushing grin for a brief and blissful instant.

…And then everything was shattered before I could cling to it and try to keep it intact at its core with a sharp gasp from the box's entranceway behind our seats.

Glancing over my shoulder in surprise with the roar of applause filtering about us and bows being taken onstage, I leapt to my feet and flipped around to face our intruder, wide-eyed.

"Raoul." His name passed my lips lacking real sound, my stare locked on him without breath being taken into my lungs. And then I felt my stomach fall as realization struck. Raoul…, Raoul had snuck up into Box 5 and had caught us.

And Erik…. Ripping my eyes from my aghast former fiancé, I saw my husband on his feet beside me, but leaning casually back on the thick brocade curtains, phantom persona in place in his haughty regard. How I hated every detail of it!

"Christine," Raoul gaped, recapturing my primary focus. "It's you…. I thought…I thought I imagined it."

"Imagined?…" I stammered, glancing back and forth between the men. "How did you even see us up here?"

"I didn't…. I saw a shadow in this box from my own, and I thought…. Well, I hoped it was you, and…. My God, I'm so relieved that you are all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?" I demanded with a flicker of annoyance. As always, I was the supposed weakling, damsel in distress, and it was unthinkable that I could take care of myself.

"Yes, de Chagny," Erik taunted in his arrogant façade. "Why wouldn't she be all right? Hers wasn't the neck I was hoping to break; that was yours, if you'll recall correctly."

The look I shot at Erik was where I directed all of my perturbation for both of them, saturated in a glare that fumed as brightly as his temper, and it would have stayed as his had Raoul's audacity not jerked it back with his boldly thrown retort.

"Fiend!" the Vicomte hissed. "I have been terrified to consider what she has been subject to at your monstrous hands!"

Erik gave a sharp, mocking laugh and asked me bluntly, "Would you like to tell him, or shall I?"

I knew what he was implying, but I only shook my head miserably. How had such a lovely evening come to this? Once again, I was the prize set between these two aggressive competitors, wondering if they would destroy me before they finally managed to destroy each other.

"Tell me what?" Raoul's voice bore a waver, as if he could already guess just how much he was going to like this news, and it only made Erik stand tall and proud with his victory.

"Christine and I are married," he triumphantly declared, and for the first time in months, I knew a genuine wave of hatred and resentment toward him…, not him but the role he felt he must take on. _This_ was not Erik; this was the madman who had once been determined to manipulate me into staying with him, the one who could kill and destroy. This was not the man I loved.

Raoul's face was aghast and ashen under the news, the idea an absolute horror to him. "You…forced her, you disfigured freak! She would never have wed you if you hadn't have tricked her into it! Did you use the same ploy you used to get her to stay with you? Threaten me and my life knowing she'd do anything to keep me safe?"

"Get out, de Chagny! I'm bored with you and your pathetic drabble." Only I could have ever known how much Raoul's accusations stung Erik, playing on the very real fears he had harbored for so long. Only I could see the slightly lower carriage of his stance, hear the dimness in his very threats, and only I could have set him to right again, but I was too annoyed over the entire situation to want to encourage either of them.

"Christine," Raoul suddenly begged, "say the word, and I'll come for you. I promise. I'll get you out of this devil's lair."

My eyes grew wide. Foolish Raoul! Still in love with me, or at least in love with the girl he thought I was. And he would get himself killed once and for all because of his own inability to face the truth.

"I married Erik by my own choice," I declared adamantly, meeting my husband's intent stare yet never softening my own. "He did not force me into anything I didn't want. Just leave it at that and go, Raoul."

"Christine," the Vicomte attempted again. "And now he has you lying to protect him! Bastard!"

"Get out, de Chagny!" Erik raged again, and I suspected people leaving the opera below us must have heard the echo. "Or I will complete the job I should have the last time we saw each other and end your waste of a life! I told you then that if you ever came after Christine, I would kill you; you can count yourself lucky that I don't follow through on the threat and do it now!"

"Go, Raoul," I urged, knowing how minimal Erik's restraint was at the moment. "Just go."

He looked at me one last long breath, his reluctance vividly shown, but he had no choice but to comply with death threats dancing in the air and leave the way he had come, his footfalls echoing back up to us with each heavy step.

My own angry gaze settled on my husband, who would not even look at me as he opened our private exit along the wall of the box and coldly commanded, "Come on."

Not a word was uttered on the tedious journey home except for the detailed rants playing in my head if only to convince me that I had every right to be upset. Erik had his own reasons, and every emotion, including the hurt ones, attached would fade to anger, as I well knew. Wasn't that heart always protected by his temper, hiding behind it even? I expected a tirade to come when we arrived home and was unsurprised and unflinching when he slammed the door so hard that I was shocked it did not fly off its hinges.

But the shouting did not materialize. He just stared at me, holding my eye without giving away one solitary emotion for a long moment before he stalked down the hall to his sitting room, leaving me alone and confused in the foyer.

Two minutes, two unendurable minutes and, of course, I pursued him, halting in the doorway to just observe his dark shape in his throne chair, his eyes staring blankly at the fire in the hearth. …And I waited.

"Say it," he suddenly commanded after a long moment of stillness passed. "Say it, Christine. Tell me that you're angry with me for taunting that boy. Yell at me for threatening his perfect existence. …And please, God, tell me that I have no right to feel the way I do right now. That my feelings are…unjustifiable and ridiculously presumptuous. …Please just tell me in the way you do that I am wrong."

I knew what he wanted to hear, but all I could manage to say to pacify him was, "I don't love Raoul."

"But he loves you." Those mismatched eyes averted to me then, and I could hardly believe how the pain outweighed the anger. "He desires you. It was written across the urgent longing in his eyes." Every word was laden with disgust. "The way he looked at you…. Had you not been present, I would have killed him with the jealousy in my soul as my inspiration." Scoffing in disbelief with even the mocking bit of a laugh attached, he continued, "He thinks so certainly that I forced you to marry me…, because you couldn't possibly have _wanted_ to be with me. Oh no, of course not. That is inconsiderable to the likes of him. You're _supposed_ to want the dashing Vicomte…, but you don't, do you, Christine?" The uncertainty created a betraying waver in his tone. "…Do you desire the Vicomte?"

"No," I answered immediately, stalking into the room to halt before his chair. Even if he denied my words, he had to see the truth in my eyes. He just had to! "Erik, no, I have _no_ desire for Raoul."

"But why not?" he pushed somberly. "He is perfection, Christine. Rich, flawless features, a real god among men. Every woman _must_ desire that."

"I don't," I insisted again, shaking my head desperately. "Erik, please stop this. You're the only one I want."

"Do you?" He suddenly shouted the question, fire flaring in his eyes, brighter than the one in the hearth. "Do you indeed? Because your ex-lover seems convinced that I must subject you to horrors of the flesh! And who can argue against gallant Raoul and his gentlemanly pledge to avenge your honor?"

"Erik," I strove to interrupt, but he was on his feet, pushing past me to pace before the hearth. "Erik, please."

With a suddenness that made me jump, he halted and faced me, roaring, "He desires you, and it is acceptable because of who he is, what he is! But I…I must have forced you if I would ever expect desire from you! I must have _raped you_ to get you in my bed! Repulsive freaks like me aren't meant to feel and know desire! But the handsome Vicomte can put it openly on view, even coveting another man's _wife_, and it is wanted!"

"I don't want Raoul!" My volume did not equal his, but the power was there, the rage flaming to match. And I was not done. "I married _you_, Erik! I want _you_!"

"You don't even know what that means," he bitterly accused, "what _any of this_ means!"

"I do!" So many things to say that I felt them jumble and muddle my brain. All of my arguments, though, really boiled down to one. "I married you, knowing what was expected of me, what a real marriage is, but you don't want that. You don't want to love me or to desire me."

Before I could go on with too many pent-up thoughts, he suddenly lunged, catching my arms and twisting them behind me tightly against the small of my back as he dragged my body to his. "Pity that I do then, isn't it?" he hoarsely demanded, eyes so full of unrestrained passion that I felt myself trembling all over. Never had it been so prominently shown to me, always held at bay and leashed. Now it was a raging inferno. "Don't want you?" he mocked the words. "If only I didn't! Then every bit of my existence would be so much simpler! Look at you right now. You're afraid of me, terrified; you think that I _would_ force you just as the Vicomte does."

"I'm not afraid," I stated as calmly as I could. And I wasn't…, not afraid. Nervous, apprehensive, but _not_ afraid. "You _won't_ force me; I know that without a doubt."

"Oh, do you?" He took it as a challenge, pressing my entire length flush to his, and as I felt the throbbing ache of his desire so hard and blatant against me, I knew I was right as my insides melted. Forcing? He wouldn't need to _force_ anything!

I could feel my breaths becoming shallow, like my lungs were suffocating themselves, and I didn't care, tilting my face upward toward his, sure he would see the hazy need in my eyes. Erik just stared at me a long, frozen moment, searching my emotions, trying to decipher and understand what obviously surprised him to know existed.

Finally, in a husky tone I barely recognized as his, he insisted, "I am not the Vicomte, Christine."

"I know that. You're my Erik, my _ange_, my husband, …the only man I've ever wanted or desired." I was being so honest that it took an effort to push the words past modesty's lingering barrier.

And for one minute, one blissful minute, I was certain that he believed me. Then just as abruptly, it vanished, and he released me, recoiling back and out of my reach with a shameful expression leaping to life in his stare. He was disgusted with himself and what he perceived to be an indiscretion, and desperate to convince him otherwise, I took a step closer, reaching out to him.

"No!" he suddenly roared at me. "Leave me be! Can't you see what you're doing to me? You're a poison in my blood!"

I leapt back just staring at that tortured figure. …A poison…? Was I?… But wasn't he the same to me? Poisoning me, stealing everything I was; the only difference was that I was his _willing_ victim.

Though he refused to grant even one more look my way, I lingered there a moment more, part of me futilely hoping he would regain enough sense to affirm the truth in his mind: that I _did want_ him. Pointless, I told myself, and with a sheen of tears crowding every vacant space of my eyes, I turned and fled the sitting room, fled desire as a whole.

At some point as I readied myself for bed, I heard the front door slam shut and knew he was gone. A fleeting concern raced my brain that he wouldn't return, but my heart could not bear to dwell on such a horror. Well, when he _did_ return, he would find that I had chosen to sleep in my own bed, taking the pre-offered escape this time, one I had so readily condemned before. For two people who couldn't even manage to apply the term 'love' to their situation, maybe it wasn't such a terrible thing to have. When everything felt like a jellied mass beneath my feet, ready to turn to a liquid and drop me at any second rather than solidify, distance was preferred if it could mean salvage.

In my last aware thoughts before sleep wrapped solace around me, I realized that I had never once put a notion to Erik leaving here to do something wrong, something amoral, something from his Opera Ghost days. I never once considered that if he wanted, he could have gone after Raoul and taken his pain and anger out on him…. Because I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't. It amazed me even to be so confident in that belief, but I trusted him that completely. Too bad he didn't know it.


	5. Chapter 5

Erik didn't return to the house that night or the entirety of the day that passed. For the first time in months, my lesson time came and went, and even though I chose to work alone rather than forgo it altogether, I had a deep void in my chest the whole time. It wasn't right; it didn't _feel_ right.

Maybe I would have broken down and cracked, cried until my tears ran dry or something to that extent, but this separation wasn't intended to punish me, I knew. Just like before, he was using it to punish himself, and I was just the unlucky casualty to his masochism.

Miserable and lonely, I soaked for an indiscernible amount of time in a hot, soothing tub before settling into bed, though I doubted sleep would come easily. My head was far too full, and for hours, I suffered for it. At some point, the tears came, finally breaking through my self-inflicted façade, tears that mourned the heart I wanted and yet couldn't seem to reach. Perhaps I was wasting my own in the process. Perhaps _this_, this semblance of a marriage, was all I was meant to have with him. …Could that be enough for me? …And if it wasn't, then what…?

The door gave a soft creak, and I lifted my tear-stained face from my pillow to see his dark silhouette outlined against the intruding light from the hallway lantern. Erik…. My heart wanted to fly, wanted to go straightway to his, but I caught it with merciless fingers and held it down, clinging it to my chest.

As he approached my bedside, every footstep utterly tentative, I caught the reflection of a tenderness in his eyes as they ran over me, a gentle softening of his masked features that only made my tears threaten to fall faster and harder as I forced them back.

"I thought I'd find you in my bed," he said, so hushed, and only hesitated a moment before lightly sitting on the edge of my mattress.

I had lifted myself up onto one elbow, my loose curls a tangled mess around my shoulders as I matched his tone and replied, "I didn't want to torment you further with my presence. You made it abundantly clear last night that you don't want me, that I am 'poisoning' you. I was only seeking to set things right between us again."

My words made him cringe, and that abhorrence he always seemed to know for his very sense of self resurfaced. "Christine, …it isn't that way…." Silent a pondering breath, he seemed to decide upon a different tactic as he asked instead, "Are you happy here with me? …Are you happy with our life?"

"Yes," I answered immediately without thought. It seemed an absurd question because being with Erik _was_ my happiness.

"Well, I…I am happier than I've ever been in my life," he admitted earnestly, his eyes bearing so firmly into mine. "You can't imagine what it is to suddenly gain a future and a reason for living, …to not be alone anymore. I adore every moment and wake up anticipating every day to come with you in my life. You have to understand then that I never want to do anything to jeopardize such a blessing, …to risk losing you. After this time together, that is an unbearable thought."

Gentle as could be, I pushed, "But what about more than this, Erik? What about the _rest_ of it?"

I saw his jaw clench, his eyes coming to rest on his fisted hands atop his knee. "What the Vicomte dared to insinuate last night hurt me more than I wanted you to see or to know. I have been so desperate to act the gentleman with you, never to _be_ the monster you bore witness to in the night I forced you to marry me."

"You didn't force me-"

"As you've argued," he interrupted but without the sharpness I would have expected. No, he actually smiled a bit. "Either way, coerced or not on the subject, I was determined that I would never do it again and never try to manipulate anything from you." With an adamancy firm as stone, he declared, "I would never force you, Christine. …And last night even just to taunt you with the concept sickened me. I knew back from the very night we married that I would never demand that of you. How could I want you to come to my bed solely because I had to power to make you do so? To have you there out of a sense of duty and loyalty to a vow and a threat that I had laid into place myself?"

I listened intently to his every word and watched the torture on his features and in his eyes. It amazed me that this held so much weight to him, that he saw it as being the damning act between making him a man or a monster. To me, a dubbed sense of duty had been my very excuse to let what I desired be acceptable. Yes, I would have given myself to him that first night because I felt I must, but at the same time, I _wanted_ to even then.

"Christine, why are you crying?"

Was I? …I hadn't even realized my tears had slipped free of my control. Perhaps because everything felt such a hopeless mess to me, perhaps because I was frustrated and didn't know what to do next, perhaps because I realized right then that though I was happy, this _wasn't_ enough for me and never could be. I'd be lying to say it was.

"I promise you," he went on, and I could see that he was desperate to pacify me. "I will _never_ be the monster the Vicomte made me out to be. I will _never_ force things of you. My behavior last night was barbaric, and I apologize so vehemently for it…and everything I said. If you are poisoning me, then I pray you do so completely because I'd rather be intoxicated by you and lost in you forever than lose you from my life."

My hands darted out from beneath the blanket to cover his mouth and silence him, part of me terrified lingering timidity would quell the miniscule flame of courage I was desperate to keep lit. Holding his eye fiercely so that he would understand my seriousness, I demanded, "Tell me honestly and truly, Erik. …Do you desire me?"

I slowly lowered my hand, but it trembled midair as it lingered in its suspension. Every bit of me was shaking with a sort of terror that was soul deep because I knew that if he said no, he'd be lying, and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to have the ending I wanted if he lied to me now.

"A ridiculous question to be sure that you already know the answer to," he stated with a huff and a touch of a smile that made that light in his eyes dance. "Why must you ask things like that?" Then with a suddenness I had not expected, he grew serious and solemn, his gaze piercing mine. "Especially to a man who's only known desire for one woman in his entire lifetime…, who's only…_loved_ one woman ever…. Questions like that are irrelevant; …they only remind me of what I can't have."

I stared, lost in those eyes, utterly speechless when I _needed_ words on my side so much, and I watched him slowly, wearily rise and turn from me, leaving my bedroom in heavy footsteps that dully thudded with my heart's beat. No, no, no! Things couldn't be left this way! Tomorrow, everything would be as it was days before, as if the past conversations and passionate outbursts were unimportant dreams. Erik was so good at repressing the unwanted parts of his life; this would be one more. And God, how I would suffer for it!

But I had to wait, to recollect my failing bravery, to take pause and consider a valid course of action.

The house was silent beyond my door, and I concluded that Erik had gone to bed, though I felt sure he would be as awake and tortured as I was. So on bare feet, I made the trek I hadn't needed to venture in months and entered his dimly lit room. This time it was he who lifted his head to observe my approach, his welcoming smile unhidden and scars awaiting my eager touch. He raised the edge of the covers, and I immediately crawled beneath and into his open arms, swallowing back a sob at how deliciously whole I felt in the instant his firm grasp had me, my face pressing to his chest as I breathed him in. Kisses were being laid to the crown of my head, and I savoured each one. He thought he was forgiven and all was as it was before, and I almost, oh so nearly, went along with that if only because of how content I was to be even this close to him. But no, …I couldn't. It wasn't enough; it _couldn't ever be_ enough.

Slowly drawing back, I met his eyes with mine and saw such a depth of emotion there that I yearned to have it always as my own. In a hushed whisper, I said, "You called my question irrelevant and said I already knew the answer…, but I want to hear the words. …Tell me that you desire me, Erik."

"Christine," he attempted a feeble argument at best, and since my arms around him prevented any form of escape, there was nowhere to go, no place to run to hide from me.

"You're afraid of it," I accused yet again. "And you're ashamed by it."

"How can I not be?" he passionately insisted. "My God, Christine, I desire you with a fire so powerful that I don't think I can control it. And then what happens? Then I become the monster; then I take what isn't mine."

"But it _is_ yours," I protested. "It's _always_ been yours."

"You felt it last night," he reminded, searching my eyes for confirmation. "You felt the effect you have over me, the sheer ache you cause within my body at every turn. Didn't it frighten you, Christine? To know that I am burning so intensely, that if you tempt me, I won't be able to resist you? I barely did last night!"

I shook my head, meeting his stare without fear. "It made me melt. I'm not afraid, Erik; I've never been afraid…. You're so certain that I'll run from you again, but how could I ever…when I want you so much?" Plainly stated, entirely straightforward, now if only he believed in what he was yearning to deny.

"You want me?" Releasing his hold on me, Erik offered his hands freely to the air between our bodies. "You want these hands, stained in the blood of many as they are, …a murderer's hands on your body? You want them to touch you in your most intimate places, to slip so deeply within you and tease you so mercilessly?"

His words and the images being created in my head from them were encouragement enough for my willing consent, and catching both of those sinful hands in my own, I guided them to my lips and pressed kisses against the palms of each, studying his reaction close enough to see the wave of desire flow through him.

"They are not the hands of a murderer to me," I justified, keeping them trapped with entwined fingers. "They are the hands of my husband, hands I _want_ to touch me."

The breaths escaping his lungs were shallow and gasp-like at the edges as he hoarsely demanded, "And you want this face, malformed as it is and distorted, kissing your flawless body across every inch? These bloated lips caressing your silken flesh?"

Quivering, I leaned close enough to graze my own lips over his…once, twice; my tongue dared to add a soft lick across the swollen arch of his mouth, and I felt him shudder down his spine. In a breathless whisper, I agreed, "Every inch."

A moan escaped him, so unbridled that a flush of heat swept through my veins in response making me writhe and scoot urgently closer to him. I could tell he was barely forcing restraint to stay intact as he demanded, "Christine, and you want this body atop yours, joining with yours as one being, never to be separated again, making you mine in every way possible?"

Breathing was impossible and nearly forgotten in the shadow of the desperation I felt for those very things. It astounded me just how powerful a need it created, one that once ignited, burned so intensely that nothing mattered but finding the way to put it out, though it surely wouldn't die without some sort of overwhelming culmination. And dear Lord, how I wanted it!

"Yes, yes, yes," I gasped breathlessly to the identical flames searing me through his eyes. Catching his scarred cheek on my palm, I let coherency peer through enough to be certain he understood me clearly and absolutely. "I desire you of my own free will, not because I have to, and I am not in your bed out of obligation or duty. I want you, Erik. I'm _burning_ for you."

My attention was caught by the tremble of the hand he brought to entwine possessively in my curls, the caress saying something contrary to the hesitation in his stare. "I don't want to hurt you."

I knew enough to know such a thing was inevitable at first, and since I couldn't lie to him and promise he wouldn't, I whispered with a blush I could feel warming my skin, "I want to be one with you, Erik, to be yours. Please…don't push me away."

His breath escaped him in a sigh. "I don't think I can. Oh, Christine…." Catching one of my hands within his, he slowly guided it between our bodies, all the while holding my eye captive with his trepidation. "But tell me this does not frighten you."

My hand was pressed to his hardened manhood, and I sucked a harsh, forced breath of air into starving lungs. The brief instant I had been held flush against it the previous night had only hinted at the sheer size and strength of it. And now to feel it, to curve my fingers around its thickness with only a few flimsy barriers between skin…, I was in awe.

"Are you afraid now?" Erik pushed, his voice so hoarse and nearly breaking with the forceful waves of his own ache. I could see it like a ravenous hunger within him. "Are you afraid of what you just claimed to want? _This_ inside of you. …Tell me, Christine. And will you now run from me and destroy every illusion of happiness I've ever had, punish me for my wanting?"

My answer was to pull my hand free of his hold, but before he could assume his own fears were valid, I dared to slide my fingers within the waistband of his pants and seek a real touch. He gasped and shuddered with his fervent surprise, moaning deeply in the instant my fingers closed around him. Modesty begged me to retain some limits, to not let wanton emotions take control, but the feel of him, so hard, smooth, and warm in my hand made my insides quiver and desire reign supreme. I wanted him! Dear God, did I want him! Fear seemed trivial, and nervousness was shoved to the background.

He was the one to end my eager caresses after only a moment more, disentangling my hand from within his clothing, and I knew a momentary panic that he was regretting everything. But amidst my surprised cry, he suddenly caught my lips in his, kissing me hard and demanding, his lips lacking any gentleness as they moved hungrily against mine, and I succumbed completely, wrapping my arms around his neck and arching my body against his, aching to be closer and closer still.

One of his hands entangled itself in my hair, snaking a path to the nape of my neck to splay wide and grasp me firmly to his intrusive kiss while the other sought the ties of my nightdress resting idly at my chest. He no longer hesitated in any endeavor, consumed with the need, and unlacing that meager binding, that hand stole within and found my breast, cupping its weight in his palm while his fingertips dared to graze the hardened tip.

I shuddered violently down the full length of my spine. Had any single touch ever caused such an uncontrollable reaction within my body? _That_ almost frightened me as I wavered a bit in my conviction. My innocence was coming through. I didn't know what to expect from my body itself, feeling suddenly ignorant and inept. But the more he teased with his fingers, the more I felt reluctance and apprehension fading beneath, and my sudden fears became a pleading within my very core. _Give up control_, it begged, and I did. In that moment, I would have eagerly accepted death at his hands if that were to be the ending to come, anything as long as he didn't stop.

Those misshapen lips parted from mine so that they could begin a trek along the side of my throat as I whimpered my delight. Only once did I receive a question of permission in one shared look, but my own hazy stare must have pleaded for me because he did not pause again. Lips and tongue both teased my sensitive skin as my own small cries surprising my ears. His hands had parted my nightdress, and before my clouded mind could deduce his intentions, he was capturing my nipple between his misshapen lips. Shivering and whimpering, I dug my fingers into the thin hair on the back of his head, clutching him to me even though I lacked any real strength of limbs anymore, all bones and fibers feeling weak and liquefied. I was left with one semi-coherent, marveling thought of how passionate Erik was, how incredibly overcome with desire and yet still so gentle with me. As always, he put my wants and needs first; how could he ever call himself a monster then?

His hand was descending the curve of my hip, and catching the material of my nightdress in a fist, he began to bunch it up until his skin, warmed now by mine, could touch me. I could already fathom his purpose, and when his hand immediately entered my pantaloons, I eagerly parted my thighs, moaning softly with my urgency. His first grazed touch brought a groan that escaped his mouth where it was buried against my breast. I already knew I was wet and aching, and to realize how such a fact overcame him and made him shudder against me only made me wetter. The tips of his fingers stroked me so gently while my hips arched nearer, nearer to that craved touch. He was controlling every bit of me in that one caress, and I surrendered without lingering fear, fisting my hands in his hair as I cried out.

All at once, his lips and hands left my body, and I nearly whimpered in disappointment, so craving, so unfulfilled.

His eyes met mine, and it astounded me in my dizzy haze how clear and rational he suddenly was when I still felt like I was falling without a net. In a husky voice, he bid, "Do you love me, Christine?"

It never occurred to me that I hadn't actually said the words aloud. He might have been avoiding their syllables as well, but he _had_ said them before, had established the depth of his emotions for me. I had been the one to run from that.

"Yes," I whispered fervently. "I love you. I do, Erik."

"And you want me? And a real marriage, a future together with every detail that includes?"

"Yes," I repeated, caressing his scarred cheek with gentle fingers.

"No doubts?"

"Not a single one."

Nodding as though that was all he needed to hear, he reached for my nightdress and casually lifted it over my head and off. My pantaloons followed under my attentive stare as I fought to read his mind as he so often accurately read mine. His eyes trailed languidly over every bit of my skin that he had revealed, and I felt myself blushing. How funny that reddened shyness was to come up even when I longed not to appear the timid little girl! It betrayed my innocence so blatantly.

When his eyes found mine again, he grinned and teased, "So nervous! And pointlessly so! You are such glorious perfection, Christine." His fingertips grazed an idle path from the top of my shoulder down between my breasts to splay wide across my flat stomach, the sheer length of his hand and fingers covering every bit of my creamy flesh with its span. "Beautiful, so very beautiful," he breathed as he leaned close to press a lingering kiss to my collarbone.

And how he made me _feel_ beautiful! It was in the sheer reverence of his expression; it was something that made me feel unearthly to my essence, beyond mortality, greater than its limited boundaries. I was not a vain person. But Erik had always sought to prove to me that I was exquisite. And how deeply did he believe his own sentiments and endearments? So much that I felt like a worshipped goddess as his eyes again took a roaming path over my body, the fire in his stare searing me with every brushing.

"I am aching so much to have you," he huskily whispered as his fingers were moving over me. "And yet at the same time, I am terrified to let this moment end."

"Why?" I demanded back, catching his wayward gaze with mine. "You seem so certain it will never come again. Don't hold the doubts I don't have, Erik. I want forever, and as such, this is only our beginning."

Though he was still clinging to a solitary hesitation in the background, I left it there. This was a man who needed proof, and I was determined that over the course of our life to come, he would have just that. And every doubt would seem ridiculous then and unwarranted.

As my fingers sought the buttons down his shirt, I urged with conviction, "Make love to me, _ange_. Make me yours."

I saw that possessive streak take control of him. Had he been anyone else, even Raoul in our courting days, I would have hated him for it. But as deeply in love with him as I was, I savoured it, truly wanting, in some strange way, for his mark to be upon me, to be claimed as only his. Some would call that pathetic and dependent, weak even, but I knew that loving Erik was what had made me strong and I was unashamed to admit it.

He did not let me finish with the buttons, jerking the half-open shirt up and over his head, and with a sigh of delight, I immediately pressed palms and fingers to that exposed expanse of skin, tracing and adoring every carved muscle of his chest and stomach. Even as I touched him, he was ridding himself of the rest of his clothing, baring his body boldly to my curious regard. And yet in spite of all of his feigned bravado, I could practically feel his flash of trepidation, his search for some sign of approval. It amazed me to realize how alike we were!

Trailing my hand in a timid descent, I dared to touch his hardened manhood as I had earlier, shivering up and down my spine to hear his uncontrollable moan. Softly, teasingly, I inquired with an innocent raise of brows, "Does it make me utterly brazen to enjoy touching you like this?"

"No, no," he practically gasped out, his hands twining in my hair in an attempt to steady himself. "Not brazen."

"Yes, but I find I like it all the more because it is arousing you so much. That _must be_ brazen. I like knowing how much I'm making you ache." I was admitting it plainly, but I left out the fact that in equal amounts I was delighting in how simply my spoken utterances were causing him to shudder. He liked hearing me say the words, that, though so innocent, were also tentatively provocative.

"Need I remind you," he was replying hoarsely, his own hands continuing desperately necessary paths over any bit of my flesh they could find, "that I _am_ your husband. Brazen doesn't apply."

"No?"

"No, it is sensual and tantalizing, not brazen." His fingertips were between my legs again, caressing my wetness as he shuddered so violently. Edging close enough to nuzzle his scarred cheek against my hair, he admitted urgently, "I don't think I can wait much longer; I have to have you."

I trembled at his words and did not hesitate, reluctantly ending my caresses but as eager for the rest of it as he was.

Erik closed the bit of distance remaining between our bodies until we were pressed skin to skin, and I could hardly believe how warm he was, not a reminiscent chill anywhere. God, how delicious it felt! His flesh, so different from my own in texture, so _Erik_, flush to mine, and the hardened length of him was urgently nudging at my body, his eyes holding mine all the while. He hesitated only an instant; I wasn't sure for my sake or his. And then I felt him hold his breath as he suddenly thrust deeply.

I froze. Pain…, yes, there was pain, one I had only partially prepared myself for. I knew it had to get better; it had to fade, but betraying tears rimmed my eyes without my consent. I wanted to hide them and tried to duck my head, but Erik was too close, too perceptive of my emotions as always, and catching my chin with his knuckle, he forced me to meet his worried stare again.

"Christine," he whispered tenderly, and his free hand rose to brush the tears from my eyes. "Say the word, and we'll stop," he insisted firmly. "We need not do anything else. I would be content simply to hold you in my arms."

Humbled yet again, I knew that he meant every word. The longer I lost myself to those brilliant, mismatched eyes and marveled over him and everything he was, the more the pain became only a dull ache. "I don't want to stop," I whispered, caressing his scarred cheek so gently. "Please, Erik, …don't stop."

His concern was a lingering vapor in the air, but Erik was taking great care to reignite my desire with teasing caresses that would not cease. And only when I had fallen back beneath a haze of passion's power and was beginning to restlessly arch my hips, practically overcome with the fullness of him within me, did he slowly begin to move. I felt the shudder run through his entire frame, the tremulous breath he seemed almost afraid to take, and willingly moved with him, clinging with fisted hands against his shoulders. I wanted more, I thought mid-passion, and as if reading my mind, he thrust deeper, harder, making small whimpers of delight slip past my lips.

"Erik," I breathed desperately. In that moment, nothing existed in the world but him and the desire. It was a cloud in my brain, stealing a rationale I eagerly gave up and raining fire along my body. I knew pleasure was coming, something so necessary to every fiber of my being that I willingly relinquished everything, every ounce of control, to its power. And then in an unrestrained shout that left the recesses of my lungs, I became its willing victim, the ecstasy washing through me, starting from the place where our bodies were joined and branching out through every limb, seeping into every cell. I nearly sobbed to succumb so powerfully to its spell, and to glimpse the way Erik savoured knowing he had caused it made me eagerly find his lips with mine, kissing him with a mixture of love and gratitude for this one blissfully perfect moment.

Beyond the pleasure, the best part surpassed my own bliss. To gaze upon my Erik, to feel him move within me with only wispy fragments of the passion left so that awareness reigned, to delight in every tingling sensation along every inch of touching skin, those things made the love within me so strong, so unbreakable. His palms caught my hips between them, and in awe, I watched the pleasure overcome him, watched those mismatched eyes close to the shudder that racked his entire being, heard and savoured the guttural cry he gave, so far from his golden, heavenly tone but equally as beautiful. It amazed me that only I would bear witness to this, that only I, for the rest of our lives, would have this passionate side of him. It was something that was completely mine. Had I ever been given such a wonderful gift?

Silently smiling, I witnessed reality's return across those disfigured features, relishing his weight atop me, his body still joined to mine as if we were inseparable. …And weren't we just that? Everything felt changed, altered at its innermost core, solidified finally.

Before he could utter a single word, I whispered urgently, "Please don't regret this." A terror had gripped me so suddenly and so raw that he would now force me away from him that I kept my arms firmly around his torso and pressed my forehead to his heart's beat.

But Erik leaned closer yet and pressed kiss after kiss along my hairline, vowing so fervently, "I love you. I love you so much, Christine."

Relief. Oh, the joy of such exuberant relief! Relaxing my grip, I gently ran my hands up and down his back, molding us so perfectly together. I had never imagined such exquisiteness could exist in the living world, sure that only heaven could create such euphoria. If nothing else, it assured me a million times over that I belonged exactly where I was, in my darling angel's arms.

A strange thought suddenly occurred to me, and made oddly bold by our union, I dared to ask, "Had you done this before?"

He chuckled. He actually chuckled at my question! "What an absurd thing to ask!" But my expression made him hastily answer it. "Of course not! I was not exaggerating to say you are the only woman I've ever desired. It was not some sweet endearment. It was entirely true. I am not the sort of man to have swells of amorous attention toward every female I see. And…with a face like mine, I never believed any woman could desire me in return."

One of my hands immediately caressed that mangled flesh with a tenderness I saw him savour. How much it hurt me to consider all he had endured, some of it by my own ignorance! And how fortunate I was to be in his arms right now, being loved and cherished by his beautiful heart!

"I desire this face," I made it a point to say, "in a way that I've never desired anything."

"Truly, Christine? And you have no regrets yourself then? …You just gave yourself to me so openly, so completely."

"I love you," I said as if that was justification enough. "And I love this face; it is the face of my every dream, of the completion of my very soul."

When he bent close to kiss me, there were tears shining in his eyes, and they were still present a little later when he made love to me again, clutching me to him as though we'd never be parted. And with a lightness in my heart, I believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

If I had presumed to know desire's definition and associates, the next week taught me that I had previously only touched on its corners. My God, desire! It was a hunger and need that became as necessary to my existence as breathing. Erik was as surprised as I was, and yet it was he who pushed for more, he who brought me beyond passion's boundaries to ecstasy in ways that I could have _never_ imagined possible. And Erik…. He never tired of seeking new ways to make me melt. It seemed like he derived more pleasure from pleasing me than anything else. We were like children learning something new and previously undiscovered. To us, there were no limits, and shyness evaporated that first night to Erik's passionate insistence. How he amazed me constantly! And to consider that he had believed he would never know these physical pleasures, to consider that fervent spirit laying dormant his whole life and then realize that it had just been waiting for me to have and hold as my own! At times, I felt almost undeserving of such a blessing.

I was happy, content, excited with the prospect of the future laid out beneath our feet. We finally had a real marriage, finally were everything to one another, and as Erik kept declaring exuberantly, once our house was finished, our new life would be complete. Every day he left early to oversee the building, returning to have supper with me, one I had the privilege of playing the domesticated wife to prepare. Then exercising patience as we both had to, my lesson followed, now with purpose to each step as Erik insisted that I would be the star by the start of the next season. He was only teacher then with his ever-present expectations that he forced me to exceed with each day's work. But as lessons ended almost to the second, he abruptly transformed into husband, grabbing me often before I had my music put away and carrying me to bed while stripping clothes off at every step. It was overwhelming, and it was my dream come true.

One night, I had been half-dragged, half-carried to his bedroom, my gown puddled someplace in the hallway and various other articles of clothing strewn everywhere when I made him cease with a provocative gleam in my eyes. Only my chemise was left covering me, resting with a thin layer of lace at mid-thigh, and he was desperately groping for its hem.

"Not yet," I teased, sidestepping his hand as he groaned his disappointment.

"Cruel, Christine. I've spent all day shouting at incompetent workers, longing only to be here with you, and now you propose to make me suffer further?" he asked, raking desperate eyes over me as if his stare alone could devour for him. "Must I beg?"

"Oh, you will be before I'm through with you," I promised, guiding him toward the bed with an inviting, crooked finger. He did not hesitate to follow, quickly discarding his shirt on the way as I called, "You might as well disrobe entirely."

His brows rose with a delighted question that lit every disfigured feature but was never spoken. With eyes that remained on me as I climbed on the bed, he abruptly rid himself of everything else so that he was exposed to my eager stare. I adored that body; I adored learning its every nuance even more than learning my own. And to have his arousal so blatantly and proudly on display made me ache with an intense emptiness needing to be filled by him.

"And now?" he posed, chuckling lightly with amusement. "Or were you just intending to ogle me all night?"

My blush shown through my boldness, but I did not let it deter me as I commanded, "Lay on the bed, …but keep your hands to yourself or I will take my time with every moment until you are sobbing with want."

I could tell the idea wasn't nearly as unappealing as I would have liked it to seem, but he obeyed without complaint or deviation, laying beside where I sat with a tempting tilt of his head that challenged me for more.

I knew I blushed yet; I couldn't help it, but I scooted to sit beside his head, bending low to graze one simple kiss along his misshapen mouth.

"Oh no," he groaned. "A gentle kiss to start. You must be intending to be merciless with me."

"You'll have to wait and see." Slowly, I began to crawl down the length of his body, laying idle, upside-down kisses on my way. Imitating my game, he dared to capture one of my breasts between his lips, wetting the thin material of my chemise as it passed, but I abruptly jerked beyond his kiss.

"Cheater," I taunted, glancing over my shoulder to see his seemingly innocent expression.

"You practically dangle it in front of me, and I'm not supposed to respond?" he demanded as if the idea was absurd.

"A little restraint, _mon amour_," I chided before I continued my game, laying teasing kisses along his chest and then his belly. I was so brazen! _He_ made me brazen! He just drew it out of me like it was some hidden talent within, and I never fought it. How could I want to when the sight of my husband squirming beneath my ministrations was so appealing?

With a bit of a grin that I could not hide, I edged lower and lower until with one last look over my shoulder to delight in his anticipating, wide-eyed expression, I took his hardness into my mouth. He moaned so deeply at the first second of contact and arched his hips upward toward me, but at such an angle, he had very little control, unable to grasp my curls as he often did when I kissed him there and guide my rhythm. No, I had all of the power and knew with a blush so fierce that I would torment him.

Drawing back to his moan of disappointment, I began to press tiny kisses up and down the length of him, occasionally adding my tongue and making him jolt with delighted surprise.

"Christine," he gasped, and I threw him a look over my shoulder before suddenly taking all of him into my mouth again, thrilling him further.

Such passionately erotic endeavors could only last a minimal time when both of us were already aching, and to my mew of need, his strong arms lifted me and drew me into his embrace, his lips finding mine in a violent kiss that I met without pause and poured my own fervency in every motion.

When he finally took me, tearing off my chemise carelessly, we were both so lost to the desire that hands were fisted and nails were clutching urgently frantic at one another. His thrusts were harsh and rough, but I only met him, nearly sobbing when release came and pleasure erupted within me so powerfully that I shuddered fiercely in his arms.

"How I adore the passion in you," he hoarsely gasped against my ear, creating even more tingles along my spine.

Words were still a jumble of nonsensical letters in my mind, and coherency evaded me yet as his hands caught my hips and held tight. And as ecstasy came, an unbridled shout and a raspy growl met my ears as his weight crushed me into the mattress.

I was pressing kisses to his sweat-covered shoulder, running my fingers through damp hair, and with a flutter of a giggle, I asked, "Are you all right?"

"I will be momentarily," he managed to reply, searching for his breath, "when I regain the ability to move. My God, Christine, how did you come up with _that_?"

"Are you complaining?" I teased, arching my hips with his satiated body still inside.

"Lord, no! I'm just…amazed by you…yet again." His hands combed my curls away from my face, and with a wry grin, he declared, "Ah, I know! Your ballet days and the tawdry tales of the ballerinas must have inspired you."

"How do you know about that?" I demanded in a whine of embarrassment.

"You should realize by now that there are not many things that go on under my roof without my knowledge." Tucking my hair behind my ear, he stared at me with such unfathomable love in his eyes and said, "And wherever you were, I was usually there as well, hiding in the darkness, wishing only to be a part of your shadow forever. It's ridiculous to me to consider now that that would have ever been enough. To never actually hold you or kiss you. …To never be so deeply inside of you after making love to you…. Christine, I am so blessed to have you and your love. I am entirely undeserving of it, and yet I am selfishly determined never to let it go just the same."

"You better not," I warned, leaning near to press my flawless cheek to his scarred one. "I love you, Erik."

His arms enfolded me without an inkling of space between us, and I closed my eyes to savour something so wonderful that I could hardly believe it was real and it was mine.

* * *

The next morning, I stood before the mirror in my room, pinning my hair back from my face. Even as my fingers performed the task, my mind was elsewhere. How could it not be on Erik? And how could a blush not be lighting my cheeks a soft pink hue with every recalled image in my eager head? That blush and the secretive, introspective smile attached gave me away.

"Do I even need to ask the subject of your thoughts?" Erik inquired teasingly as he came up behind me and met my eye in the mirror's glass. "Or may I assume that I put that beautiful smile there?"

"_Every_ smile is your doing," I corrected, but sweetness faded to passion as he leant down to brush his misshapen lips along the sensitive side of my throat. In a whine of longing, I demanded, "Must you leave me already?"

I felt his smile against my skin. "Considering that I've already been delayed once by you this morning and am presently late, yes, I fear I must. But when I return, I will thoroughly make up for every second apart."

Memories of the previous night bled into memories of just an hour before, and the warmth of the blush on my cheeks grew. …Well, he was right to say _I_ had been the one to stop him from leaving, …shamelessly so, and any complaints he might have given were only moans with my very first attempts.

"Oh, all right," I reluctantly conceded, watching in the mirror as he slowly rose behind me and covered that face I so adored with the mask. Immediately, my fingers tingled with the urge to rip it away again. Its presence seemed so utterly unnecessary and even unwelcome now, and I knew a swell of amazement at how quickly that had come to be.

Smiling at me in the glass, Erik brushed a gentle caress down my cheek, and then he was gone and I missed him in my very first breath taken on my own. Oh well…. Another day of tinkering about the underground house, seeking things to keep busy or go mad from the silence. It certainly left me impatient for our new house to be completed. Then there would be a garden to tend and sunshine to provide bursts of delight. Then there would be a home of our own…and, although the detail had only been implied with the choice of a real marriage, children….

My mind was in a haze of plans with images of tiny fingers and toes to enchant me when walking toward the sitting room, I received my first impression that something was wrong. It was a sense really, a peculiar, unsettling feeling that twisted my stomach. A perusal about gave nothing to ease my mind but nothing actually out of the ordinary either.

…And then I heard a noise coming from outside the front door in the catacombs, …scuffling footsteps. It wasn't Erik; I knew that instantly. It was someone unconfident with the darkness, stumbling a bit, awkwardly on guard, …and en route to the underground house.

I had little time to consider a plan of action, fear twisting my heart and preventing the most logical reasoning from being more than a jumbled mess. Had I had a clear head, perhaps I would have hid or locked myself in the secret confines of my room, but my thoughts came down to one: this was my house, and I wasn't about to be frightened in it.

Courageously defiant, I suddenly strode right out the front door and into the darkness without pause, scanning every shadow. Again footsteps, louder now, echoing about, nervous, uncertain with every motion, …and then a familiar voice.

"Christine?"

"Raoul?" Seeing the Vicomte de Chagny emerge from the shadowed passageway in his pristine suit was far more shocking to me than seeing him at the opera over a week before had been. My expression was something akin to horror. Raoul here? …Why?

Raoul came to stand before me within the light cast out from the open doorway, his smile laden with his relief and renewed confidence now that he was beyond the dark. "I saw that monster leave, and I knew this would be my only chance."

"Chance for what?" I demanded curtly. How could I return his friendly smile when his very presence felt like a horrible intrusion? "What are you doing here, Raoul?"

"I came to rescue you, of course."

"Rescue me?" I scoffed at the very idea. Absurd! Ridiculous! …And yet so very like the gallant Vicomte and his self-proclaimed nobility!

Without permission or consent, Raoul suddenly caught my hand in his, his grip firm when I tried to pull away. "Ever since I saw you at the opera, saw you with…him, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. My God, what a fool I was to have left you here this long! I should have come for you no matter what threats he tried to lay into place! I should have stolen you away months ago! And instead I ignorantly let you suffer!"

"Suffer?"

"Yes, my poor darling, to be forced to marry that monster, forced to…," he grew pale before the words even left him, "…take him to your bed. What you've been through…, I can't even imagine. But everything will be all right now. I'm going to take you from this place. We'll go away where no one can ever find us."

I was fighting his grip, desperately trying to yank my hand free as I contemplated his words. He thought that what he was doing was right! "Let go of me! You can't just carry me off! He's my husband!"

"He's a murdering freak!" Raoul shouted back. "What's wrong with you, Christine? You should be grateful that I'm here, that your nightmare has finally ended!"

"Nightmare?" I practically shrieked, my voice resounding off of the stone walls. "I love him, Raoul! _I love him_!"

"The bastard's obviously using a spell to make you think such things," Raoul justified, his other hand grabbing my waist as he sought to pull me toward the dark passage. "Come on, Christine! Once you're free of this place, you'll realize how he's been tricking you. You poor child! This whole time he's probably had you convinced that you _want_ to be here with him. I'm sure that's why you never tried to run and get to me."

"Let go!" I shouted, but my will could not break me loose of his hold. "_I_ chose Erik, Raoul. _I_ chose to stay with him. _I_ made the choice! And I chose to marry him as well because I love him! Now let me go! Damn you!"

"Christine," the Vicomte insisted tightly, refusing to concede, "I'm doing this for you!"

I screamed as he dragged me deeper into his hold and fought to lift me off of my feet, desperately struggling with limbs and nails. This was _not_ happening! I was not going to let it happen! He would not take away my happy ending like this!

"Stop fighting me!" Raoul yelled as I elbowed him as hard as I could in the stomach, but his grasp still would not loosen.

And then I felt him being yanked back and away, his arms releasing me, and I fell in a heap of limbs and skirts to the hard, cold floor.

I nearly cried in relief. Erik was there with a noose clamped tightly around the Vicomte's neck as poor Raoul clawed at its binding and fought to breathe.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked, his relieved eyes perusing every inch of me, though his hold on my attacker never slackened.

I beamed at him with a quick nod, rising quickly to my feet, and though my mind argued with me, I dared to beg, "Don't kill him, Erik."

"I should!" he sneered, purposely yanking the rope to cause Raoul to gag. "Breaking into my home, assaulting my wife and nearly kidnapping her. And yet now we are back in our predetermined roles in quite a familiar situation, your neck in my rope, your life in my hands. My instincts are just begging me to strangle the breath out of you."

He wasn't going to do it. His eyes met mine, and I knew without doubt that he wouldn't. Perhaps a few months before, such a thing wouldn't have been so clear to him, and the Vicomte would have already been a dead body on the ground. But my Erik had changed. _I_ had changed him.

One more tug on the rope to cut off the Vicomte's lungs, and Erik suddenly dropped him, rope and all, to the floor as the Vicomte gasped desperately for air, tearing fiercely at his binding. An eye was always his struggling adversary, Erik stepped toward me, his hand reaching for mine, and I scampered to his side, clasping that hand and the arm attached and adding a grateful kiss to his shoulder.

Raoul had staggered to his feet, the rope tossed carelessly to the ground, and he was backing away from us step by step, wide-eyed and white as a sheet. "Christine…," he stammered as he shook his head in reality's bewilderment.

"If you ever lay a hand on my wife again," Erik growled hastily, "I will not be so generous as to let you live! Now get out!"

I had ducked my head against Erik's jacket, tears in my eyes that I could not control, and all I heard were the Vicomte's running, scuffling footsteps as he fled our world, a place he couldn't belong to or hope to understand. When quiet was all that could be discerned, Erik was the one to guide me back into the house, his arms so warmly secure around my trembling body. I caught the click of the lock on the front door, precautions suddenly necessary, but he did not speak or release me until we were in the sitting room and he was drawing me onto the couch with him.

It took the coercion of every cell in my body to convince me to let him go so I could meet his intent yet unreadable stare. "How did you know?" I asked in a shaky whisper. "You were gone."

He shook his head, and his fingers brushed my tears away. "I have alarms all over the catacombs. I knew someone was lurking about. I never left you alone."

"So you saw all of that?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Only then did he let his real terror appear in his eyes, giving me the glimpse I wanted into that soul.

"He thought he was doing the right thing," I weakly justified. "But, …oh, Erik, what if you hadn't have been here? What if he had taken me away?"

"I would have come for you, of course," he confidently answered. "You should know quite well by now that I'll never let anyone separate us."

"And we're married. That's binding." I had caught the edge of his mask and yanked it away, needing to see that face.

"It's so much more than that now." Though I was curled to his side, it wasn't close enough for him as his strong arms drew me onto his lap and into his embrace. "I wouldn't have come for you because by law you were mine, a possession if you will. I would have come for you only because I love you and I know you love me as well."

He knew, and that meant more to me than anything he could have said. After all this time, he trusted in my heart. He knew that when I said I was happy, when I said I loved him, I wasn't lying to him. _Finally_!

Smiling even as tears fell again from my eyes, I pressed my cheek to his scars and curved my fingers in his hair, breathing him in, yearning to be lost in him.

"You know, I'm not going to leave you alone again," he warned. "Not until we are safely in our new home away from this place and this life."

"I have no complaint to that," I replied. "However, the Vicomte will always be a part of our lives if the opera is. There is no escaping that."

"Then he better have learned his lesson." I felt the tightness of the welled rage within him. "Let him try to cross me again. I wasn't exaggerating my threat, Christine. _No one_ hurts my family."

I couldn't contain a smile as I nuzzled my nose against his sunken cheek. "I know, my love. You are my guardian angel, after all, and I and the children are expecting you to take care of us."

"Children?" He abruptly drew back and met my eye, and I giggled with amusement. He, the mighty Opera Ghost, looked so suddenly terrified. "I think…. I mean…. Isn't that a discussion for another time?"

I shrugged innocently. "Maybe, maybe not. The things we've been doing lately…, _frequently_ doing, tend to have that ending result, you realize…. And I don't think you'd want to give up those things."

"Certainly not!" he exclaimed, trailing his fingertips along the neckline of my gown. "And…the new house would be large enough, I guess."

I nodded encouragingly. "It would indeed…. Home, family,…. Erik, that's our future."

His grin matched mine when he brushed a kiss against my lips and set his forehead against my brow. "I love you, Christine. You gave me the future."

Future…and forever attached.

* * *

Are some people born particularly luckier than others, or is it all in one's perception? Many would call me unlucky to love a man with a corpse's face. But I consider myself luckier than anyone else in the world for that same reason. Supposedly, Erik's face is some unfortunate tragedy, but to us, it is a blessing that drew us together. Perception as a whole is an interesting, unclear opinion at best, lacking a distinct right or wrong path. It is contingent on each and every individual, and if one is lucky, then one is just happy, no matter the circumstances or the details attached.

So I call us lucky and happy, and by such a perception, our ending will be perfection, full of love and bliss. It is my dream come true, and all because I made the right choice….


End file.
